


Second Chance

by Juli



Series: Family by Blood and Choice [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 172,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3835084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/pseuds/Juli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos raised one eyebrow. “I think the boy’s suffered enough without having me inflicted on him as a guardian, don’t you think?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Olivier Athos woke up with a groan, the aftertaste of last night’s wine haunting him almost as badly as the remnants of the dream that had chased him from sleep. Nightmares featuring Thomas were not unusual, but this dream, while unsettling, wasn’t as horrifying as what Athos typically endured. In it, his dead brother had just looked at him with a sad smile and said, “Don’t screw it up this time.” The gentleness in that dreamt gaze had caused him to wake in tears; Athos was far more used to accusation or hatred being in the looks his brother gave him in his dreams. 

All in all, it was not the most auspicious way to begin his day.

Knowing that falling asleep would only give dreams another chance to attack; Athos reluctantly rose from the bed. He’d been sleeping on top of the blankets and had a vague recollection of simply flopping down on the mattress’ soft surface once he’d drug himself to his bedroom. He felt slightly chilled from sleeping uncovered, but it was a familiar sensation, as was the throbbing head and cotton mouth that were the result of having had too much to drink the night before.

Routine was a wonderful thing – it let him get through his morning ablutions with minimal input from his brain. After he was done with a shower and check to see if his beard needed trimming, Athos padded naked into his small kitchen and put some bread in the toaster. Breakfast started, he quickly found something clean and got dressed, including getting his handgun out of the small safe in his closet. The toast was done by the time he finished and, fortified for the long commute, Athos headed out the door.

It took all of ten seconds for him to clatter down one flight of stairs and into the ground floor office of the company that he owned, Musketeers Security and Investigations. His colleagues were already there and all three of them gave him looks of varying amounts of disbelief as he came through the door.

“Well, good morning glory,” Porthos was the first to speak, leaning back in his chair and grinning widely. “So nice of you to join us.”

“Be kind, Porthos,” Aramis’ voice was dripping with artificial sweetness. “It’s only 10 am. That’s practically early for our fearless leader.”

“Piss off,” Athos glared at his friends as he made his way to his own desk, popping his last bite of toast in his mouth even as he sat down. “I was doing surveillance last night.”

“Is that what they call it now?” Constance got up from her station and approached Athos’. “Surveillance?”

Athos eyed the hefty pile of files she was carrying warily. Surely she wouldn’t?

He should have known better – she absolutely would.

Constance thumped the stack onto Athos’ desk with rather more force than he thought was strictly necessary. His head reminded him that he’d had far too much to drink the night before. It wasn’t a rare occurrence by any means, but even being an old-hand at hangovers didn’t mean that his head hurt any less.

“Good God, woman,” he rubbed his temples as if wishing could make the headache go away. “You’re fired.”

“That’s the third time he’s fired her this week,” Aramis helpfully pointed out to the room in general. “That's a new record.”

Constance ignored them both, just turning on her heel and going back to her desk. In truth, none of the group liked doing the paperwork generated by their work, which was why they took turns at it. The arrangement meant that at least one of them was out of sorts at any given time, but at least it was a shared pain. 

“Your condition this morning is your own fault,” The expression Constance aimed at him was a prim one. “Don’t expect any sympathy from me.”

“Didn’t ask for any,” Athos pointed out, but only received a sniff of distain for his trouble. He didn’t take it personally, since he knew that Constance was using it to cover up how she worried about him.

Poor deluded soul.

“Why are you down here so early?” Aramis asked. It was a justifiable question, since Athos legitimately had been working late into the night; he’d just been drinking even later than that.

Athos shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep, thought I’d be productive.”

“How did the Torrez surveillance go then?” Porthos brought the conversation down to business. “Did you catch the missus doing something naughty?”

Much of investigative work wasn’t glamorous and the previous night’s efforts were proof of that. William Torrez was a consultant whose job had him on the road a lot. Torrez hired the Musketeers after his wife started missing a lot of his phone calls, acting distant when he was home and had even begun dressing differently. The man was convinced that his wife was having an affair, but that wasn’t what Athos had discovered.

“Mrs. Torrez is indeed spending most of the nights that her husband is out of town in a bar,” Athos told his colleagues. “However, she isn’t meeting a lover. She simply works there as a waitress.”

“What?” Aramis voiced his confusion. “Isn’t Torrez the client who went on and on about money not being an issue and that his wife didn’t have to work?”

“Exactly,” Athos felt smug. “It turns out there is another man, but it’s their son. Mr. Torrez neglected to mention that he kicked the young man out of the house and cut him off financially. His wife is working to help the boy finish college.”

“And why’d Torrez kick the kid out?” Porthos asked, wary. “It’d be a shame if she was risking her marriage just to support her son’s drug habit or something.”

“Apparently the esteemed William Torrez took offense to his son being gay,” Athos revealed. “The kid’s a junior at Columbia and Christine’s determined that he finish, despite her husband’s unreasonable attitude about the whole thing.”

Constance crossed her arms across her chest. “Christine,” she repeated. “You’re on a first-name basis with the woman? I thought your name was Athos and not Aramis.”

Porthos cackled, although Aramis looked slightly offended at the comment.

“Is it my fault that members of the fairer sex find it easy to talk to me?” Aramis put one hand over his heart, as though he was wounded.

“As if talking is where it stops,” Constance retorted. 

“As it turns out, it wasn’t necessary to talk, or anything else, with Mrs. Torrez,” Athos assured them. “She accompanied a colleague outside for a cigarette break and I was able to overhear their conversation.”

“So we can tell Torrez that his wife isn’t having an affair?” Porthos asked.

Athos shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

“And we can charge Torrez double?” Porthos looked hopeful. “It’s not right to turn your back on family like that.”

“Absolutely not,” Athos’s tone brooked no argument. He gave them each a stern look, but couldn’t hold onto it and ended up smiling. “We charge the bastard triple.”

The others grinned at him, showing their understanding. Athos had experience in feeling a parent’s disapproval. In fact, if hadn’t been for the timing of his father’s fatal heart attack, Athos would likely have found himself disinherited. Athos’ smile faltered at the thought. His father hadn’t approved of Athos’ impulsive marriage and had loathed Anne on sight. At the time, Athos had felt the older man was being difficult and the worst kind of snob. Given what had happened of the marriage, though, and the ruin it brought on their family, his father had been right all along.

“Athos,” Aramis’ voice interrupted Athos’ unhappy memories. The younger man was looking out the window. “Are you expecting DeFoix today?”

“You didn’t forget a board meeting again, did you?” Constance stood to join Aramis at the window, secure in the knowledge that the tinted film on the window would keep anyone from the outside from seeing what she was doing. Sure enough, a familiar form was just getting out of a sedan that had parked almost directly in front of their building.

Gerald DeFoix was an honest man, so much so that the second thing that Athos had done after inheriting his family’s business was to raise DeFoix up from a sea of middle management to name him president. Athos had never regretted the decision. DeFoix ran Noble Friends cleanly and if the real estate investment firm didn’t quite make the millions upon millions it had when Athos’ far more ruthless father had been in charge, it still made a good profit. Technically, Athos was CEO, but really only showed up for a board meeting once in a while. It was an arrangement that suited everyone all around. Athos had earned a degree from Harvard Business School, but his heart wasn’t in it anymore.

His ex-wife had killed more than Athos’ brother.

“No, there’s not a board meeting scheduled for some weeks yet,” Athos watched as DeFoix loitered outside. It was almost as though the man were waiting for something. . . .

“Wait a minute,” Porthos joined them. “Isn’t that Treville’s SUV?”

And it was. A black SUV pulled into a nearby spot and Gene Treville exited. He joined DeFoix, but the two men didn’t seem eager to come inside.

“That’s odd,” Constance glanced at Athos. “What’s someone from the District Attorney’s office doing with the president of your company?”

“My family’s company,” Athos corrected almost absently. “And the two did go to law school together.”

“And they just happen to end up here?” Porthos pointed out. “Together? Without no appointment?”

Constance wrapped her arms around herself. “I have a feeling the other shoe’s going to drop.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Aramis shook his head in disgust as he pointed at the next vehicle to arrive.. “You just had to tempt fate, didn’t you?”

The third car was long and black. It took a special type of person use a stretch limousine during the week during the day – and in a section of New York City that was nice enough, but didn’t see a lot of limos. Since he didn’t know any celebrities or international dignitaries, Athos had a feeling he knew was inside.

Sometimes it was very disappointing to be right.

Armand Richelieu stepped out of the limo as though he were an award-winning actor stepping onto a stage. Athos heard someone hiss at the sight and it took a moment for him to realize that the sound had come from him.

“Right,” Porthos was already in motion. “Guns. Now.”

Given the nature of their work, weapons were a must and they were all licensed to carry. The heavier and more exotic equipment was stored in the lower level, adjacent to the dojo and workout areas. They all carried a handgun and there was a gun safe for them in the corner of the office. Porthos made a beeline for it and punched in the code, but he wasn’t taking out weapons. Instead, he was motioning towards his friends, encouraging them to stow their guns safely away.  


They’d learned the hard way that, when it came to Athos being forced to converse with Richelieu, it was best if he didn’t have access to a weapon. Any weapon, either his own or one that he could appropriate with minimal effort.

Athos was vaguely aware of his friends moving around him, but the lion’s share of his attention was for the trio of men approaching. 

The second thing Athos had done after inheriting his family’s business was to make DeFoix president, but the first thing he’d done was to oust Armand Richelieu from that same position. It had not made the two of them friends.

“Come on, give over,” Porthos was at Athos’ shoulder. 

“What?” Their visitors had almost reached the door and Athos didn’t take his eyes off them.

Porthos tapped him on his shoulder. “Your gun, Athos. Now.”

Athos scowled at his friend, but it did no good. Porthos just stared blandly back at him and held out his hand, motioning impatiently with his fingers for Athos to hurry up. Athos sighed and reluctantly pulled his gun out of its shoulder holster and slapped it down onto Porthos’ palm.

“Thank you.”

Porthos made short work of adding Athos’ gun to the collection and was closing the safe even as the agency’s door opened. Constance and Aramis had moved back to their desks in an attempt to make it less obvious that they’d been watching. Athos didn’t care. He strode to the door, ignoring DeFoix and Treville completely.

“What are you doing here?”

Richelieu’s smile would have looked more natural on a snake. “Good morning to you too, Olivier.”

“Answer the question or get out,” Athos didn’t try to be polite and when Richelieu continued to smile, quickly lost his patience. “On second thought, forget about the question and just get out.”

DeFoix reached for Athos, wincing when he pulled back. “You need to hear this, Athos.” At least he knew better than to use Athos’ first name.

“Very well,” Athos conceded, more to assuage the concerned look on his three friends’ faces than any desire on his part to know. He was known for his control, but lost it all too easily when Richelieu was around. Athos nodded at the conference table. “Make it quick.”

The main office was a large, open one. In the center was a huge, antique table made of a heavy slab of oak. Each of the investigators had desk areas surrounding it, but they weren’t walled off. There was an enclosed office and conference room towards the back of the space, but it was reserved for delicate meetings with clients and not for the likes of Richelieu.

“You will want this discussion to be private,” Richelieu said with a sniff, looking at the table with distaste.

“I thought we made it clear years ago that you haven’t a single clue about what I want or am capable of,” Athos reigned in his temper, reminding himself that he’d bested this man before. “There is absolutely nothing you have to say to me that my friends are not welcome hear.”

“Very well.” Richelieu shrugged and took a seat. Athos wasn’t surprised that he’d chosen the chair at the head of the table. “You have been warned.”

As the rest of the group took chairs of their own, Athos put a hand on Treville’s arm when the older man stepped by him. “Them, I get. I’m assuming this has something to do with my family’s company – but why are you here?”

The Musketeers had a good relationship with the DA’s staff in general and Treville in particular, but if the DA’s office were involved, the situation that had created the unholy trio that had just descended on them could be very bad indeed.

Treville’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “To keep you from killing them.”

Athos dropped his hand and Treville took his seat. There was one chair left and it was at the end of the table, as far from Richelieu as it was possible to get. Athos sat down gingerly, grateful that he had Aramis on one side and Porthos on the other. 

“At the risk of repeating myself, why are you here?” Athos first looked at Richelieu, but when the man didn’t respond, turned his attention to DeFoix. “I’m assuming this has something to do with Noble Friends, so why isn’t this conversation taking place in the company’s board room?”

“This is a private matter and not a corporate one,” Richelieu replied. He would have continued, but DeFoix interrupted him.

“I swear to you that I didn’t know about this,” DeFoix leaned forward to impress his earnestness. “If I’d known, I would have told you, legal ramifications be damned.”

“How refreshing, a lawyer not only openly admitting that he would break a client’s confidentiality, but also making that confession right in front of a representative of the District Attorney’s office.” Richelieu raised one eyebrow. “And yet you had the audacity to accuse me of a lack of ethics.”

“Show him the photo,” Treville ordered, ignoring Richelieu’s insinuation.

Athos had been so focused on the men that he hadn’t seen that DeFoix was carrying a leather satchel. With Treville’s suggestion, DeFoix opened it and removed a file, sliding it in Athos’ direction. Athos knew that his friends were burning up with curiosity, but Constance just slid it to Aramis, who in turn handed it to Athos, all without making an attempt to see what was inside.

When the folder reached him, Athos didn’t open it right away. Instead, he studied his visitors’ expressions. DeFoix’s distress was written all over his face, but Treville looked tense as well. Richelieu tapped his fingers in an uneven rhythm on the table’s surface, the closest to nervous that Athos had ever seen the man, even during the proceedings to have him removed from Noble Friends’ board.

Whatever was in that folder was enough to rattle three extremely competent, if in one case unethical, men. With a rising curiosity, Athos flipped it open. He blinked in surprise at what he saw. Surprise quickly gave over to anger. What had Richelieu said, that it was a personal matter?

“What does this boy have to do with anything?” Athos demanded, twitching the photo out of the folder and sliding it towards Porthos. His glare was fixated on Richelieu.“And be very careful how you answer, Richelieu. Corporate warfare is one thing, but if you’ve touched a hair on a child’s head.- . . . .”

Audible growls could be heard on either side of him and Athos was pleased to see Richelieu pale. It was satisfying to see the other man give both Aramis and Porthos uneasy glances. As usual, the men of Musketeers Security and Investigations were seen as an obvious threat. Considering that all three were former Army Special Forces members, they were very dangerous, but the Musketeer investigator that people forgot to be afraid of was Constance. She was as lethal as she was cute and had a soft spot for kids. If Richelieu were guilty of harming a child, then it would be Constance who carved him into pieces for it.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating,” Richelieu said archly. “I haven’t harmed the boy. Quite, the opposite, actually, and the fact that you would make that type of accusation says more about your character than it does mine.”

To his surprise, Athos believed him. Armand Richelieu was an accomplished liar, but he seemed genuinely offended. To cover his doubt, Athos retrieved the photo and looked at it more closely. He hadn’t been around many children, but he thought they tended to smile more than the one in the picture. It was a boy, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a solemn expression on his face that looked wrong on someone so young. The boy had the gangly look of a child about to enter adolescence, so his age could be anywhere from 11 to 13. His face was thin and Athos had no doubt the rest of him would be skinny, maybe even too skinny. More than anything, though, the boy seemed familiar and it bothered Athos that he couldn’t pin down why.

“Who is it?” Athos asked, directing the question to all three visitors.

DeFoix’s answer, when it came, floored him. “He’s your younger brother.”

“Or, should we say, your surviving younger brother,” Richelieu corrected the other man, his smile as sharp as a knife. “Since your other younger brother, Thomas, is dead.”

Athos lurched out of his seat, hands clawed as though Richelieu’s throat was already in his grasp. It took Porthos grabbing one arm and Aramis the other to keep him from attacking the smug bastard.

“Careful, Richelieu,” Treville warned. “Keep in mind that there is such a thing as a justified homicide. Make another comment like that one and no one’s going to hold him back, especially not me.”

Athos was still too angry to speak, but that was okay. He had friends who were more than able to step in when he couldn’t. Porthos spoke up on his behalf. “Explain. Now.”

“It happened the usual way,” Richelieu answered. “Surely you knew that even before your mother became ill, Olivier, your father had the occasional dalliance. Normally Henry was very careful that there were no . . . repercussions, but this particular young woman would not listen to reason. She was quite devoted to your father and could not be dissuaded from seeing the pregnancy through.”

As Richelieu spoke, Athos continued to study the photo. Now he knew why the boy looked familiar; he’d met the youngster’s mother. “Her name was Angelica.”

“You knew her?” Constance asked. He glanced up at her, but saw only concern.

“She was my mother’s nurse,” Athos explained. “We knew Mother was dying by that point, but my father didn’t want me to withdraw from Harvard. I still managed to come home frequently.” 

His mother and Thomas had needed his support; Lord knew his father hadn’t been of much comfort and now Athos knew why. Henry Athos had been too busy seducing his wife’s private nurse to take any time to offer emotional support to his dying wife. 

“Angelica was memorable,” Athos continued, but stopping short of admitting he’d had a crush on the young woman. In retrospect, she hadn’t been that much older than he was. He lifted his eyes from the photo to look at Richelieu. “The boy looks exactly like his mother – are you certain of the other half of his parentage?”

“Don’t be an idiot, of course I’m certain,” Richelieu admonished him. “Do I look that inexperienced? Multiple DNA tests were taken and they were all positive, the child is Henry’s, of that there is no doubt.”

“I suppose not,” Athos murmured. His gaze returned again to the photo; it was difficult for him to look away from it for long. “What’s his name?”

“Charles,” DeFoix answered. “Charles Castelmore.”

“Charles Castelmore,” Athos repeated, rolling the name around and deciding he liked it. It was a strong name. “And you truly didn’t know about him?” 

Athos wanted to trust the man, but DeFoix had been involved in the running of the Athos family business for a long time, even before Athos had made him president. A hidden brother was a pretty large omission. If DeFoix had known about Charles and kept him secret, what else had he kept from Athos?

“I swear I did not know,” DeFoix claimed. “The hiding of a child – no. I would never be a part of that.”

“Oh don’t be so melodramatic,” Richelieu admonished him. “You make it sound so nefarious. A child was conceived out of wedlock. The father wanted nothing to do with it, but provided for it anyway. It’s a common enough occurrence; nothing illegal or even nefarious was done.”

“Then why come forward about it now?” Aramis asked. Like Athos’ other friends, he’d largely kept out of the conversation in deference to its nature, but managed to voice a question that had been looming in Athos’ mind. “Has something happened to the boy’s mother?”

“When it became obvious that Angelica Castelmore was going to keep her baby, Henry asked me to make arrangements,” Richelieu informed them. “Using his personal funds, and not anything from the company, an account was set up for her while she was carrying the child. It transferred to Charles after his birth. A monthly deposit was made, one that was routed through several sources so that it wasn’t easily traceable to Henry.”

“Why the secrecy?” Athos asked. “My mother would have been dead and beyond caring before the boy was even born.”

“Your mother inherited a fortune from her family,” Richelieu reminded him. “There was a morality clause in her will. If your father’s illegitimate son had been acknowledged, Henry would have lost a significant amount of money.” Richelieu gave Athos a knowing look. “And you know how your father felt about losing money.”

“I do.” Athos nodded. “I also know that you still haven’t answered the question about why now.”

“Patience,” Richelieu went back to his story. “That’s why the funds provided for your younger brother were hidden and also why Angelica received a bonus every year that went by that she did not disclose the boy’s existence.”

“What a gentleman,” Constance murmured under her breath. When she realized that Athos heard her, she blushed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Athos assured her. “He was a hard man. Continue, Richelieu.”

“As you said, Angelica was memorable,” Richelieu explained. “She married when the boy was a toddler, to a horse breeder from upstate named Alexander D’Artagnan. No formal adoption was ever made, no doubt so the support payments would continue, but the child took the D’Artagnan name.”

“Charles D’Artagnan,” Athos murmured. It also had a good ring to it.

“The arrangements that were made were self-sustaining,” Richelieu told them. “So they continued after your father’s death.”

“And since they were part of Henry’s personal funds and not Noble Friends’, they weren’t part of the corporate record,’ DeFoix was quick to point out. 

No one needed to remind Athos who had been the executor of his father’s will. “Keeping his secrets even after his death, Richelieu?”

“Of course.” Richelieu was unrepentant. “That’s what a good lawyer does.” He sighed. “However, my arrangements may have been rather too well made.”

“What do you mean?” Athos felt as though a tight band was constricting across the chest. 

“Automatic payments were made to an account, all very hands-off. It meant that there was no interruption when your father died, but also that there was nothing to cause an alert when the boy’s mother died.”

Athos’ mouth twisted. “How did she pass?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Richelieu waved off the question. “Apparently the husband continued raising the boy, but he died a few years later in a home invasion,” 

“Poor thing,” Constance murmured. “How old was Charles?”

“Nine,” DeFoix answered. “Far too young to be an orphan.”

Porthos grimaced. “Not like there’s a good age to lose your parents.”

“This child is older than nine,” Athos tapped on the picture. “Who’s been taking care of him since?”

“With no formal adoption, the D’Artagnan family refused responsibility. He was placed with a maternal uncle, his mother’s younger brother.” DeFoix continued the story. “Unfortunately, that didn’t last long.”

Athos knew that wasn’t the end of it and steeled himself more bad news. “But he doesn’t live with the uncle now.” It wasn’t a question.

“No, he does not,” DeFoix looked at the other two men as though asking them to step in and finish the explanation, but continued when neither Richelieu nor Treville picked up the story. “About six months later, the uncle died of a drug overdose.”

“And then what?” Athos ignored the sounds of dismay from his friends. Finally, they were getting to the crux of the matter.

None of their visitors wanted to answer.

“He went into the system, didn’t he?” Porthos’ voice was low and full of repressed pain.

DeFoix sighed. “Yes, Charles was placed into foster care over two years ago.”

“Dear god,” Constance threw her hands up in disgust. “He’s a boy, not a hot potato.”

“How did you not know this?” Aramis directed his criticism to Richelieu. “Didn’t you notice that your precious payments weren’t being used anymore?”

“Ah, but they were, the money routinely went in and out of the account” Richelieu replied, although he looked disgruntled. “In retrospect, there should have been checks and balances built into the system, but the way it was devised, there was nothing to indicate that anything was amiss with the boy’s situation.”

“Which brings us back – again – to the question, why now?” Athos was hanging on to his temper by the barest of threads. “Charles has been a ward of the state for years, what caused the authorities to come looking for relatives now?”

“That’s where I come in,” Athos was startled when Treville spoke up. “A third party recently approached the child protection agency and expressed an interest in adopting Charles. Thankfully, he’d recently been assigned a new social worker and Mrs. Royalton didn’t take the offer at face value.”

“I think I liked it better when I thought you were present simply to act as a peacekeeper,” Athos managed to talk around the lump of apprehension that suddenly rose up to choke him.

“The social worker discovered that the woman who’d come forward to adopt Charles was using a false identity and the issue was reported to my office,” Treville explained. “The state takes a bleak view of anyone using false pretenses in attempt to gain access to a child we’re responsible for. That prompted another search into Charles’ background which eventually brought us to you.”

Athos went cold at hearing it was a woman who’d tried to gain custody of his brother. “Do you know the identity of the woman?”

Treville’s expression was full of sympathy when he answered. “She left no trace, but Mrs. Royalton described her as having dark hair and being flawlessly beautiful except for a slight gap in her front teeth.” He hesitated momentarily before continuing. “After we found the connection between the boy and your family, however, I did show her a picture of your ex-wife. Mrs. Royalton confirmed that the imposter was Anne Winter.”

“This keeps getting better and better,” Porthos muttered.

“I don’t suppose you caught her,” Athos asked, not surprised when Treville just shook his head no. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “What now?”

“Excuse me?” DeFoix asked, looking around at the others for support. “We just assumed that, once you found out that you had a brother, you’d seek custody.”

Athos raised one eyebrow. “I think the boy’s suffered enough without having me inflicted on him as a guardian, don’t you think?”

Constance made a moue of dismay. “You don’t mean that.”

Suddenly, it was too much and Athos abruptly got up from the table, rising so quickly that the almost knocked his chair over. He didn’t go far, just to the window. Ostensibly, he was looking through it, but really his attention was taken by the reflection. In it, he could see the visages of his other two friends. Unlike Constance, they were watching him calmly, confidence in him radiating out of every pore.

They’d known his decision even before he had.

“For the life of me, I cannot imagine a worse person to finish raising this boy,” Athos’ back was to the group when he began speaking, but he turned as he finished. He gave Porthos a slight nod. “I have it on good authority, however, that the foster care system is an even worse choice. Yes, I want custody of my brother.”

There was more than one audible sigh of relief.

“Good, good,” DeFoix smiled. “Your brother is a very lucky boy.”

“Time will tell,” Athos came back to the table and sat down. “What do I have to do to make this happen?”

“My office has been working with child protective services on your brother’s case, because of the fraudulent custody attempt.” Treville explained. “Richelieu and DeFoix were approached first because of the accounts involved. The concern was that the deception went further in the family than just Ms. Winter.”

“You know Athos better than that,” Aramis chided the other man. From the dark expression on Porthos’ face, had he been the one to speak, his words would have been a lot harsher than that. Like them, Treville was former Army and that connection had helped them work closely together in the past.

Treville took the criticism well. “I do, but I wasn’t brought in right away. As I understand these things, Athos will need to establish that he has the financial means to support a child.”

“Not a problem,” Athos was confident in his answer. The agency didn’t make a robust profit, but it was enough to keep them afloat. If necessary, he could also draw on funds from either Noble Friends or his trust fund. “Surely, it’s not that easy?”

“The state usually puts family under less scrutiny than a potential foster situation, but given that someone already took a shot at getting custody of Charles illegally, you’ll have a few more hoops to jump through.” Treville was clearly the most knowledgeable about the situation. “There’ll be a thorough background check.”

Athos shrugged. His time in the Army Special Forces meant he had a relatively high security clearance. He didn’t fear any sort of background check. "Also not a problem."

Seeing that Athos didn’t have a question on that part, Treville continued. “You’ll also need references.”

“He’ll have them.”

Athos felt his jaw drop in response. It wasn’t so much that someone at the table had offered, it was the identity of the someone that spoke first that shocked him. “I will – from you?”

“Yes, from me,” Richelieu was terse with annoyance. “You may find this hard to believe, but your father was my friend as well as a client. You obviously think the arrangements he made for this youngest son were heartless, but I can assure you that Henry Athos would also not want any child of his to languish in foster care.”

Porthos snorted. “Probably because it’d be bad for his image.”

Richelieu glared at him. “Be that as it may, if a letter of recommendation from me will help to get this boy into a more secure situation, then I will gladly provide a glowing one.”

“Right,” Athos turned back to Treville. “What else?”

Apparently Treville had reached the end of his knowledge. “He’ll need a place to sleep, you’ll have to figure out school and what to do with him while you’re on a case. . . . I’ll tell Mrs. Royalton your decision and have her contact you with the details.”

“You have room in your apartment,” Constance jumped in. “That second bedroom is full of junk. We’ll move it to the attic.”

Porthos snorted. “We will?”

“You boys will,” Constance clarified. “I’ll do the shopping, I imagine the poor child will need lots of things.”

Aramis rubbed his hands together. “I dated this wonderful teacher a couple of months ago, I’m sure she can give me a recommendation for a good school.”

The conversation washed over Athos. The voices of his friends and the way they’d immediately jumped in to help warmed him. He wasn’t in this alone, Charles might be his newfound blood brother, but Athos’d had siblings all along. Siblings. . . . that thought led him back to his dream that morning of Thomas warning him not to screw up again. 

Athos made a vow to himself.

He’d failed one brother. He would not, could not, fail again.


	2. Chapter 2

D’ar had quickly learned that being a foster kid meant that he was pretty much invisible and not in the cool superhero way, either. A teacher might notice that he didn’t have a computer to do assignments on or that his clothes were more ragged compared to other students, but their concern would dry up once he admitted that he was a system kid. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, he supposed, it was just that system kids moved around a lot. Teachers had so many students to look out for; they couldn’t afford to give attention to one that’d probably be gone in a couple of months anyway.

“Hey, Chucky, can I borrow your Transformers backpack?” An all-too-familiar voice taunted. “I’m so jealous that my parents won’t get me one.”

Unfortunately, D’ar had also learned that he was only invisible to adults. To other children, he was far too visible and, once noticed, it didn’t take long for some kids to figure out he was an easy target. Patrick Butler was one of those kids and had been on D’ar’s case since he’d arrived.

D’ar shrugged the backpack higher on his shoulder. He hated the bag, hated it with a passion. Mrs. Duras, his current foster mother, didn’t care how embarrassing it was for a kid D’ar’s age to have a bag with glorified cartoon characters on it – all she’d cared about was how cheap it was. If he lost it, there would be hell to pay, though. For a while, he’d tried keeping it dirty or even picking away at the printed design, but both actions had gotten him a lecture about disrespect for an item that Mrs. Duras had provided. Since his efforts weren’t doing much to hide the nature of the backpack, it wasn’t worth the grief and he’d stopped trying.

“Ignore him, D’ar,” a girl sidled up to walk beside him. School had just let out and so the corridor was full of students eager to leave the building. D’ar hadn’t even noticed that she had been close enough to overhear. “Patrick’s just jealous that you’re so smart.”

To say that he was surprised was an understatement. Jenny was one of the most popular kids at school, D’ar didn’t even know that she was aware that he was alive, let alone that Jenny knew that he preferred to use a variation of his dad’s last name instead of his own first name.

“Um, thanks,” he stammered. In his surprise, he’d stopped walking just as they exited the building and she came to a stop too. 

Jenny Davis thought he was smart? Wow.

“Can you believe Ms. Kinneman?” Jenny didn’t seem to notice that D’ar was tongue-tied. “She assigned all those math problems and on Friday afternoon too. Who wants to do homework on the weekend?”

D’ar actually didn’t mind math homework, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do anyway and, besides, it made a good excuse when his foster mom wanted a particularly nasty chore done. He knew better than to admit that, though. Normal kids with normal lives hated homework and he was already far from normal, what with being a foster kid. He didn’t need to be the geeky smart kid on top of that.

“It sucks,” he agreed, knowing he’d made the right answer when Jenny smiled at him.

“Say,” she stepped a little closer. “Do you want to come over to my house tomorrow? Maybe we could work on it together?”

“Really?” D’ar began to get just the littlest bit suspicious. The math class he shared with Jenny was actually for the grade above his and so she was a little older than him. Older kids usually didn’t want to hang out with younger ones, even if they were only a year younger. “You want to study with me?”

Jenny’s smile broadened to an unpleasant degree and D’ar’s stomach sank. That was the kind of expression he was far more familiar with.

“No, why would I want to study with you?” Jenny’s voice was a little too loud and D’ar belatedly realized that other students had slowed down or stopped walking by in order to observe. “You’re a loser that carries a kindergartner’s backpack. Why would you ever think I’d want to spend time with you? Gross.”

The other kids snickered and D’ar’s hands clenched into fists. He didn’t say anything, though. He’d learned by experience that talking back made it worse and he had no desire to prolong the torment. The quicker the encounter was, the less memorable it was and he’d have a better chance that that’d it would blow over. Since it was Friday, with any luck, the other kids would forget over the weekend and he’d be back to his invisible, and therefore safer, status come Monday.

Unfortunately for D’ar, the only luck he ever seemed to have was the bad kind.

“Charles!”

The laughter got louder as Mrs. Duras’ voice carried across the school lawn. He wasn’t sure why she was picking him up from school instead of having him take the bus, but it wasn’t likely to be anything good. Sure enough, she was glaring at him as she stood by the old station wagon.

“Quit dawdling, Charles.” She called when she was sure he had seen her.

D’ar sighed and moved to obey. As he walked away, he could hear more laughter.

“Better not be late, Charlie,” one voice ridiculed. “If she gets too mad, the state won’t be able to pay her enough to keep you around.”

Mrs. Duras, of course, wasn’t close enough to hear the derision that D’ar was receiving from his fellow students and, even if she had, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t do anything about it. Mrs. Duras would probably think it was his fault; everything else was.

“Was that a girl you were talking to?” Mrs. Duras demanded as he approached the car. “If I told you once, I told you a hundred times - I won’t put up with any nonsense. Teenage boys are full of hormones and nastiness. I’ll have none of it in my house.”

“No, ma’am.” D’ar murmured, not bothering to attempt an explanation. 

Mrs. Duras was convinced that all boys became perverts when they became teenagers. D’ar hadn’t reached his13th birthday yet, but had been lumped with the sex-fiends pretty much as soon as he’d arrived. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be at the Duras house much longer and that was fine by him. The two girls that were being fostered there too were nice, but he’d learned not to make any strong attachments. He’d enjoy having ‘sisters’ while it lasted, but had no expectations of any sort of permanent friendship.

“Well, get in, boy,” Mrs. Duras opened the driver’s side door. “You’re in the back today.”

A quick glance showed why – there was someone in the front passenger’s side already and from the rat’s nest of red hair, it was the Duras’ adult daughter, Emily. She was slumped with her head pillowed against the window and that was a relief. Emily could be nice sometimes, but when she was high, all bets were off. It wasn’t so bad for D’ar because he remembered the way his uncle, Jamie, had acted, but Emily scared the girls. At least she wasn’t ranting at the moment.

Knowing that his classmates were probably still watching and laughing, D’ar sighed and opened the back door. Marlene was young enough that she needed a booster seat and he took off his backpack so he could scramble between them to take the middle spot. It was one time when being skinny was a good thing, because he fit, if barely. Camille murmured a quiet hello, but Marlene was silent. Her eyes were fixated on Emily.

“Hey there, squirt,” D’ar said quietly, using the sound of Mrs. Duras starting the car to cover the fact he was using a nickname, a frowned-upon practice in the Duras household. “Don’t worry, she’d have to get through me and I make a really good speed bump.” He would have taken her hand to comfort her more, but a quick glance showed that Mrs. Duras was watching him using the rear view mirror and D’ar didn’t dare. He didn’t want yet another lecture about inappropriate behavior. 

The car ride to the house was quiet. For once, Mrs. Duras had forgotten to turn on the religious station that she liked to listen to, so there were no fire and brimstone sermons coming at them through the speakers. Given that Emily started muttering under her breath about a block after they left the school, it was a mixed blessing at best. At least the radio would have covered up her ramblings.

When they got to the house, all three kids made short work of unbuckling themselves and bailing out of the car. Mrs. Duras was left to wrangle Emily by herself, but D’ar didn’t feel bad about not helping. Mrs. Duras didn’t like for anyone else to assist with her daughter. At least Emily’s presence explained why she’d picked them up at school. As the oldest, not even D’ar was trusted with a house key. If Mrs. Duras’d had to leave the house to retrieve her daughter from somewhere, she must have worried that she wouldn’t have been home in time to let the kids in after school. Her neighbors, after all, knew she had foster kids and it wouldn’t do for them to see anything that could be construed as neglect.

Mrs. Duras was supporting much of her daughter’s weight and was breathing hard when she made it to the door. To D’ar’s surprise, she handed him her keys and he quickly unlocked it, stepping back to let the others through. He was hoping that she’d forget to ask for keys back, since the one to the refrigerator was on the same ring. While Mrs. Duras settled Emily into a chair at the table, D’ar headed towards the hallway. He didn’t get very far, however, before she called him back.

“Charles? My keys.”

Busted.

“Sorry, I forgot.” Head down, D’ar trudged back to Mrs. Duras and placed them in her hand. He turned to leave, hoping she’d be distracted enough by her daughter to let the lapse go. He should have known better.

“There’s more than one kind of deceit, Charles.” Mrs. Duras told him. “And look at me when I’m talking to you.”  
D’ar lifted his face and struggled to keep his expression neutral.

“Don’t think for a minute that you have me fooled; I know very well that you didn’t forget to return the keys.” His foster mother glared at him. “I give you one modicum of trust and that’s how you reward my faith?”

D’ar tried hard not to sigh. He had a feeling he’d be paying later for trying to keep the keys. Thankfully, Emily moaned, reminding her mother that she had more than one responsibility.

“Go on with you now, put your things away and get busy. The yard won’t rake itself.” Mrs. Duras ordered D’ar. Her gaze swept over to the younger girls, who’d been watching, wide-eyed, while D’ar got lectured. “Girls, Mr. Duras has been looking forward to you reading to him. I’ve got the bible laid out and passage marked.”

The three children moved quickly, if unenthusiastically, to obey. When they were out of sight, Camille smiled at him. 

“Nice try,” she said.

D’ar shrugged. “Didn’t work.”

She shrugged. “Maybe it will next time.”

They placed their backpacks in the corner of the living room that was the designated study area and that’s where D’ar left the girls. As usual, Mr. Duras was seated in his recliner and D’ar gave him a wide berth as he shuffled by. Mr. Duras’ eyes tracked him as they always did, but the man didn’t say anything, so D’ar didn’t acknowledge his presence.

D’ar could count on one hand the times he’d seen Mr. Duras anywhere but that chair. When he’d moved in, it had been explained to him that Mr. Duras’ injured his back years ago in a work accident and that he was in a lot of pain. Mrs. Duras was very emphatic that D’ar wasn’t to ask her husband for anything and was to disturb him as little as possible. D’ar wasn’t sure why a hurt back meant that the man couldn’t read to himself. Mr. Duras didn’t move much and so D’ar wasn’t exactly afraid of him, but the man was creepy, the way he watched D’ar’s every move. D’ar would far rather be outside in the sunshine than stuck reading bible passages to him. It was the one time in the Duras household where it was better to be a boy, the girls got stuck doing the inside chores while D’ar got to be outside.

Winter hadn’t completely given up its stranglehold, so it was a little chilly. After the door closed behind him, D’ar tilted his face up to the sun and savored it, as weak as the light was. He could hear vague noises in the neighborhood, as vehicles went by and people called back and forth. It was still the closest to alone that D’ar ever got in the Duras household and he enjoyed that sensation as much as he did the fresh air. He hadn’t been inside so much when he still lived at home. 

A rake and pile of brown yard waste bags were waiting for him. With memories of home running through his head, D’ar grabbed the rake and got started. It wasn’t much of a yard and, in fact, D’ar’s dad would have laughed to hear it called that. The neighborhood that the Duras lived in was called St. George and while it wasn’t near Manhattan by any means, it was still a part of New York City. Outdoor space was at a premium. D’ar worked with a good enough will; the motion of raking reminding him of mucking out stalls. For a moment, the familiarity choked him and he missed the horses and barn and, most of all, his dad with an ache that was an actual physical pain. It was almost too much to take, but D’ar clenched his teeth and blinked rapidly, willing the feeling to fade.

The rhythmic motion of raking made it easy for D’ar to lose himself in the movement, which helped him let the memories and feelings about home fade. He wasn’t sure how much time had gone by, so he was surprised to hear someone call his name.

“Charles!” 

D’ar looked up to see Mr. Duras standing on the porch. She had her hands on her hips, but for once the look she was giving him was contemplative instead of angry. “Well, I see that when you put your mind to it, you are capable of hard work. Come inside and wash up. It’s time to eat.”

He looked around to find he’d raked the entire yard. The dead grass the rake had pulled up was even properly bagged and he hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it. D’ar took the rake and did as Mrs. Duras had asked, leaving the tool on the porch as he went inside. D’ar winced a little as he washed his hands. They hurt and he bet he’d have blisters before long.

“Charles!”

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” D’ar muttered under his breath, forgetting that he hadn’t shut the bathroom door. When he stepped out, Mrs. Duras was glaring at him.

“Did you say something, Charles?” She asked him. 

“Just that supper smelled good,” D’ar slipped into his seat next to Marlene and piously positioned his hands to pray.

Mrs. Duras eyed him warily, but fell short of calling him on the lie. “Well, stop muttering, boy.” She gazed around the table. Everyone was there except Mr. Duras, who always took his meals in the living room. Even Emily was there, although from the way she was staring blankly at the corner of the room, D’ar wasn’t sure she was aware of much of anything. “Prepare to say grace. Marlene, it’s your turn.”

D’ar only listened with half an ear as the seven year-old recited the familiar prayer. His head was bowed as was proper, but his eyes were only half closed. The food on his plate smelled good, but there wasn’t nearly enough of it. Mrs. Duras used exact measurements to make sure each child got the prescribed amount – and not a lick more. Even for Mrs. Duras, though, the serving seemed small.

When the prayer was over, D’ar lifted his face. Camille sat across from him and he could see that her serving was also smaller than usual. Her eyes were also red-rimmed. She caught him looking at her and dropped her gaze, silently picking up her fork and listlessly beginning to eat. Something must have happened while D’ar worked outside. 

“Eat, Emily, you’re skin and bone,” Mrs. Duras encouraged her daughter, using a gentle tone of voice that her foster children rarely got to hear.

D’ar knew where the rest of his portion had gone and likely Camille’s too. Mrs. Duras planned everything to the last scrap, even going so far as to use a measuring cup to dole out their milk. She’d clearly skimped on their supper to make sure that there was enough for Emily. D’ar looked quickly at Marlene’s plate, but the littlest girl didn’t seem to have been shorted. Then again, Marlene didn’t eat much to begin with.

Mealtimes at the Duras household weren’t exactly lively, but supper was even quieter than normal. Mrs. Duras picked up on the tension easily.

“Lessons are not always pleasant,” Mrs. Duras looked first at D’ar and then Camille. “Perhaps going to bed a little bit hungry will teach you the error of trying to deceive me, Charles, and, you , Camille, that attitude will not be tolerated.”

The injustice of it burned. D’ar didn’t mind sharing with Emily, but for Mrs. Duras to use the excuse of bad behavior to take food away, only to give it to her daughter, made him angry. He opened his mouth to say something, but a loud sniff from Camille distracted him. As he looked at her, her glance shifted to Marlene, who was watching them intently. The little girl’s eyes were full of tears and D’ar knew he had to stay quiet. D’ar didn’t have any real siblings, but his dad had and had often talked about how he’d looked out for his younger sister. Camille and Marlene weren’t really D’ar’s sisters, but his dad would want D’ar to look out for them anyway. Marlene was already scared because Emily was in the house; D’ar couldn’t mouth off to Mrs. Duras on top of that. 

Mrs. Duras had noticed D’ar’s hesitation, but when he didn’t say anything, she nodded in satisfaction. The meal continued in near-silence, interrupted only by Emily’s mutterings and Mrs. Duras pleading with her to eat. It was almost a relief when they were finished with their food and Mrs. Duras directed the children to clear the table and do the dishes.

Normally on Friday nights, Mrs. Duras didn’t make them do their homework and they played board games together in front of the television instead. Of course, they didn’t watch any current tv shows, but instead old movies that Mrs. Duras had on vhs tape, but it was better than nothing. Instead of directing them to the living room when they were done, however, Mrs. Duras had a different plan in mind.

“I think an evening of quiet contemplation is in order,” Mrs. Duras told them. The lion’s share of her attention was on her daughter, though. Emily had left most of her meal untouched and was pacing in the living room. “Girls, go to your room and play. Charles, I believe you have some reading to catch up on.”

Camille looked as relieved as D’ar was, the last thing he wanted to do was spend an evening with Emily Duras. She reminded him of his Uncle Jamie and those weren’t exactly happy memories. 

Marlene, though, as much as she was afraid of Emily, also didn’t understand the loss of a significant treat. “But what about Candyland?” 

Mrs. Duras waved them off. “Take it with you.” She pulled her eyes off of Emily long enough to direct her gaze at D’ar. “Charles, I suggest a shower is in order before you start reading, but don’t linger. Girls, keep your door shut.”

The three children climbed the stairs as a group, but split up at the top. Both bedrooms were to the left of the stairs, but across the hallway from one another. The second floor bathroom was in the center, with the master bedroom on the right. Mr. Duras couldn’t handle the stairs, so he slept in a small, converted study on the main floor. 

Camille smiled apologetically as she trailed Marlene inside the room they shared, the younger girl chattering away happily at the thought of playing a game. D’ar just shrugged. He was the only boy currently being fostered, so he had a room to himself. That didn’t mean he had privacy, however. The door to the boys’ bedroom had been removed before D’ar moved in, although the girls’ room still had one. Mrs. Duras said it was because boys would do inappropriate things if allowed too much time alone. She didn’t say what those inappropriate things were and D’ar hadn’t asked. He had a feeling he didn’t want to know. 

The bathroom, on the other hand, did have a door, so at least he had some privacy while taking his shower. He didn’t dawdle, however. It had a door, but no lock. D’ar had learned from experience that Mrs. Duras would check on him if she thought he was taking too long. Whether that was because she really was worried that he was doing something inappropriate or just that she didn’t want to spend the money on the water, D’ar didn’t know. All he knew was that it was not an experience he wanted to go through again, so he was in and out lickety split.

Although it was early spring, it still got dark early and by the time D’ar got done with his shower, he needed to turn his bedside lamp on. He got the book out, but before settling on the bed, he crept out of his room to the top of the stairs, listening hard. He could hear Emily’s voice going on about demons and gave a worried look at the girls’ door. It was closed and he could hear the faint noise of giggling coming from behind it. That was good, because it meant that the Camille and Marlene hadn’t heard. It also meant that his foster mother was likely to be preoccupied with her daughter, at least for a little while.

Grinning, D’ar crossed the room and went to work on the metal post of the headboard to his bed. Soon after moving in, he’d realized that the ornamental ball on the top could be unscrewed, leaving a perfect hiding space in the hollow tube of the headboard. He wasn’t the first boy to have discovered it; there was some contraband already in there. D’ar had discarded the stale candy bars, but kept the small flashlight. He tried to use it sparingly – if the battery ran out, he didn’t know if he’d ever have the money or means to replace it.

Thanks to his reading assignment, D’ar didn’t need the flashlight; he could use the lamp on his nightstand because he didn’t need to hide that he was looking at something, only what it was. He’d hidden a couple of items of his own in the hiding spot and he retrieved those before screwing the ball back in place. With the papers in hand, along with his book, D’ar curled up on his bed. Thankfully, he could lay the book aside. Reading was not fun for him. Numbers were easy, but words were something he struggled with. One of the benefits of moving foster homes, though, meant that sometimes there were overlaps. The book he’d been assigned was one he’d read before. He’d keep it close in case Mrs. Duras came up to check on him, but he’d really make use of the time for something else.

Once settled against the headboard with a pillow propping up his back, D’ar spread out the papers, running his fingers reverently against the smooth surfaces to carefully straighten them out. It had been weeks since he’d had an opportunity to take them out and he’d been worried that he would forget what they looked like. 

Strictly speaking, Mr. Dahlstrom wasn’t supposed to let students in the computer lab print things unless it was for an assignment, but he was pretty lax. When he’d seen that D’ar had found online and printed out copies of his mom and dad’s obituaries, Mr. Dahlstrom had just patted D’ar on the shoulder and walked away. D’ar had been grateful beyond belief. Everything had been lost in the fire the night his dad died, finding those photos had been the first time he’d seen images of his parents in years. They weren’t the best quality in the world, but they were all D’ar had and were the most important things that he owned. In fact, they were the only thing he had that were truly his, everything else had been provided by the state, something Mrs. Duras was quick to point out to him if he complained.

He studied his mom’s picture first. She’d died when D’ar was five and looking at her photo didn’t hurt as much. He still missed her, but at least he’d had his dad to comfort him after she’d died. He remembered being little and very sad after she was gone, but that everything had been better when his dad held him. He’d told D’ar that everything would be all right and D’ar had believed him. The photo from the obituary had been taken before she’d gotten sick and she looked beautiful and happy. It helped him remember her that way and not the thin, ghost-like woman she’d been right before she’d died.

“Hi, Mom,” D’ar whispered as he ran his finger along her picture. 

After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and looked at his dad’s page. D’ar’s breath caught as he looked at the photo, a pang of grief hitting him hard. He hadn’t seen the picture before he’d found the obituary. His dad looked a lot younger than he remembered him, so it must have been an old picture. D’ar felt a little cheated every time he looked at it, as if the world wasn’t remembering his dad, but a version of him that existed before D’ar was his son.

D’ar blinked away tears. “I miss you, Dad. I miss you so much.”

His father’s death had happened more recently than his mom’s had and was still a raw wound. Not only had it been sudden, but violent too. D’ar flinched as he remembered that night. Afterwards, there had been no parental arms to hold him and tell him everything would be all right. Nothing had been all right since and sometimes D’ar thought it never would be again.

He had nightmares his father’s death, although while awake, D’ar couldn’t piece together exactly what happened. It had been terrifying to wake up hearing his father yell loudly, only to come barreling out of his bedroom to find a big, scary stranger standing over his dad. After that, things got fuzzy. At some point, he and his dad were outside on the lawn while the house burned behind them. D’ar ran his fingers over his dad’s photo. True, his dad looked younger in it than D’ar ever remembered seeing him, but it was better than the memory of his father’s face as he’d died.

“What are you looking at?”

Shocked, D’ar looked up, appalled to realize that Mrs. Duras had come upstairs without him realizing it. 

His foster mother swiftly entered the room, hand held out imperiously. “Show me.” She snapped her fingers as D’ar hesitated. “Now, Charles. What filthy thing do you have there? Probably pornography, you teenagers have a one-track mind.”

Reluctantly, D’ar handed the pages over. Mrs. Duras looked at him in disgust, but to his relief, she looked down at the papers instead of simply ripping them up first. As she realized what they were, the revulsion drained from her face.

“Where did you get these?” Mrs. Duras asked. She’d looked over his things carefully when he’d come into her house, so had reason to be confident that he hadn’t had them months ago when he’d moved in.

D’ar shrugged; he didn’t want to get Mr. Dahlstrom in trouble. “It’s nothing bad, just pictures of my parents.”

“I can see that,” Mrs. Duras answered. “It's this sneakiness of yours that concerns me.”

There was no safe answer to that, so D’ar just shrugged again. His eyes never left the pages in his foster mother’s hands, terrified that she’d destroy them. To his surprise, however, she handed them back.

“I know you think me harsh, but there’s a reason that God put you in this house,” she stated. 

D’ar was pretty sure it was the state of New York and not God that had placed him there, but didn’t dare let even a hint of that thought show. Mrs. Duras took God very, very seriously. Instead, he gratefully held on to the precious papers and concentrated on keeping his mouth shut in the hopes he could keep them.

“Temptation is a tricky demon, Charles. You’re here because you have no family and so it’s become my job to see to it that you become a faithful and productive member of society,” Mrs. Duras’ expression showed how determined she was to succeed – and how much effort she thought it would take. “You are a trial, to be certain, but I will not fail.”

At those words, D’ar’s head shot up. Her comments hurt and he couldn’t keep silent any longer. “My parents loved me.”

His foster mother surprised D’ar again by agreeing with him. “I’m certain they did, but they didn’t provide for you. That’s why you’re here.” She sighed heavily. “And you’re already attracting the wrong kind of attention.”

D’ar was confused. Did Mrs. Duras know about the bullying at school? “I don’t understand.”

Mrs. Duras looked uncomfortable and D’ar wondered if she was supposed to tell him that last bit. In any case, she composed herself. “I’m sure your parents loved you, Charles, but something you’ll understand when you get older is that sometimes love isn’t enough.”

For the first time since moving in to the Duras household, D’ar thought his foster mother looked old. From downstairs came the sound of Emily’s voice, louder than before. Mrs. Duras closed her eyes briefly and D’ar almost felt sorry for her. She gave him a hard look, though, before she turned away and the moment of sympathy was gone.

“I’ll let you keep those for now, but if I find they become a distraction, you’ll lose them.” Mrs. Duras told him. Before she left the room, she gave a last instruction. “Lights out, I think an early bedtime is best for you tonight.”

D’ar sighed, but moved to obey. Since the printouts had been discovered, there was no reason to hide them from his foster mother anymore. He carefully propped them up on his nightstand. In a way, his parents would be watching over his sleep. That was a comforting thought.

“You loved me,” D’ar whispered to his parents’ images. “I know you did and I love you too.” He glanced back at his father’s obituary. “The police couldn’t figure out who killed you, but I will. I promise, Dad, as soon as I’m old enough to be on my own, I’ll find the guy who killed you.”

Reaching up, D’ar switched off the lamp. “I promise, Dad, I’ll make it right – if it’s the last thing I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea of a foster mother keeping the fridge locked was used in an episode of Criminal Minds.


	3. Chapter 3

Shortly after Athos declared his intent to gain custody of his new-found brother, the three men who’d delivered the life-changing news took their leave. He walked them to the door while his friends hung back.

“I’ll give Mrs. Royalton the good news,” Treville promised again, shaking Athos’ hand as he said goodbye. “I’m sure she’ll be in touch shortly. You’ll find her most eager to get Charles into a permanent home.”

“I appreciate your help,” Athos thanked the other man. “I don’t need to tell you how worrisome I find my ex-wife’s involvement.”

Treville’s expression became grim. “My office failed to get a guilty verdict against her for your brother, Thomas’, death. We’re not going to fail you with this brother. The sooner we can get Charles under the watchful eye of family, the better I think we’ll all feel.”

“Agreed,” As Treville stepped away, Athos next turned to DeFoix. “I have a favor to ask.”

DeFoix nodded eagerly. “Anything.”

“I need the name of the city’s best family law attorney,” Athos explained. “I know it’s not your area of expertise, but you likely have some connections.”

“Of course,” DeFoix didn’t seem fazed by the request. “You want to take steps that something like this doesn’t happen to Charles again.”

“Exactly.” Athos turned and looked behind him as Constance made a small noise of distress. His friends might be hanging back, but were still listening in “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on dying, but then again, I’m sure the boy’s parents didn’t either. I think it would be best to have some contingency plans in place.”

DeFoix grinned and slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the way a father should think; welcome to parenthood.” He laughed off Athos’ attempt to correct him. “Oh, I know you’re his brother and not his father, but you’ll be stepping into that position with Charles. It will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but it will be worth it, trust me. My daughter, Lucie, is about Charles’ age. There are some days that I think I’m going insane, but mostly I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Athos didn’t think he’d ever feel as comfortable being responsible for the life of a child as DeFoix seemed to be. Something of his thoughts must have been in his expression, because DeFoix chuckled.

“Trust me, one month from now, you won’t be able to imagine your life going back to the way it was,” DeFoix slapped him on the shoulder again and, joining Treville, walked out of the office.

Which left only Richelieu.

“Do not expect a thank you from me,” Athos addressed his last visitor coldly.

His words had little effect. “I hold no delusions that gratitude in any form will be forthcoming from you.” Richelieu flicked at his sleeve, although Athos was certain that no speck of dust would dare to rest there. “You will have the letter of recommendation that I promised, however.”

Athos wasn’t fooled. “You’re not doing that out of any regard for me.”

“No, I am not,” Richelieu readily agreed, but didn’t offer any additional explanation. That wasn’t exactly comforting to Athos, something no doubt Richelieu realized, if the enigmatic smile on his face was any indication. “But you’ll accept my help anyway.”

With that, Richelieu swept out of the office. Athos was quick to close the door behind him. Briefly he leaned into its solid wood, resting his forehead on it while he willed his riotous emotions back under some sort of control. When Athos finally straightened and turned around, he found his three friends watching him with almost identical frowns of concern.

“Are you all right?” Constance stepped forward, but didn’t quite dare to touch him. “How do you feel?”

“How do I feel?” Athos laughed humorously. “I feel disappointed that my father is dead because I very much want to kill him right now. Slowly. And with great feeling.”

Porthos cracked his knuckles. “We could always dig the bastard up.”

“Although, from what you’ve told us, your father’s been dead for years,” Aramis stroked his bearded chin. “That makes causing him pain a little problematic.”

“Problematic,” Porthos repeated, “but not impossible.”

The immediate support helped Athos regain a little of his equilibrium. “Thank you for the offer, but I think it’s best to concentrate on the living.”

“Of course it is,” Constance rolled her eyes at her male colleagues and finally stepped forward to give Athos a quick hug. “You know we’ll help you with anything you need.” She wrinkled her nose at Porthos “Anything short of grave robbing, that is.”

“Those contingency plans you mentioned,” Porthos ignored her last remark, keeping his eyes on Athos’ face. “They’d better include us.”

Athos looked at each one of his friends in turn, taking their measure. Not one of the three flinched and all he saw reflected in their eyes was determination. “I don’t deserve any of you.”

“Well, you might deserve Porthos,” Aramis quipped. “But I agree that you don’t deserve Constance or myself. Unfortunately, you’re stuck with us anyway.”

Constance gave him a fond glance. “So what do you want to do now?”

What Athos truly wanted to do was crawl into a bottle and not come out for a few days. Unfortunately, he knew that was no longer an option.

“I want to know everything,” Athos answered instead. “I want to know where my brother is currently being fostered and a complete background check done on the family. I want background on Ms. Royalton, his social worker, and I also need details on the home invasion Treville mentioned, where Alexander d’Artagnan died.”

“And your ex-wife?” Aramis asked carefully.

Athos grimaced. “I’ll handle that myself.”

The group split up towards their separate work stations, the other three dividing tasks up among them. With Athos having finished the Torrez case the night before, they had nothing immediately pending. That was lucky, as there was no question of what was getting priority. Athos had barely settled behind his computer, however, when his cell phone rang. The telephone number was unidentified, but it was a local one. He was tempted to ignore it, but as a business owner, couldn’t afford to disregard a potential customer, no matter the personal drama.

“Athos.”

“Mr. Olivier Athos?” A female voice on the other end of the line asked.

“Speaking.” Athos was momentarily distracted by the need to turn on his computer. “To whom do I have the pleasure?”

“Mr. Athos, my name is Anne Royalton, of the child protective services department,” the caller identified herself. Suddenly, Athos’ computer wasn’t important anymore. Treville had assured him that he’d be hearing from Charles’ social worker soon, but this was far quicker than he’d hoped for. The man must have called her the moment he got in his car.

“Yes, Ms. Royalton, Gene Treville said he would be updating you,” Athos said carefully. Upon hearing him say that particular name, his colleagues’ attention was guaranteed. Constance’s desk was near enough that she didn’t have to move in order to hear everything, but Aramis and Porthos were across the room. Both of them got up and walked over so they could be closer. “I’ll admit that I’m pleasantly surprised that you’re contacting me so quickly.”

“All the children under my administration are special, but your brother, Charles, has been through so much that he deserves even more consideration,” Ms. Royalton replied. “I understand that you want to pursue custody?”

“Absolutely,” Athos allowed no hesitation in his reply. As he’d told the others earlier, he had qualms about his ability to finish raising his brother, but even so, knew he was a better choice than foster care. “If I’d known of his existence earlier. . . well, forgive me, Ms. Royalton, but had I known of Charles, he never would have been in need of your services.”

“That’s good to hear,” she sounded relieved, which Athos thought was a positive sign. Perhaps Charles did have one adult in his life that cared about him. “I know this is fast, but I would like to schedule an initial interview for Monday morning.”

“We can meet today, if you like,” Athos countered. “Treville was only able to give me a basic idea of what this process would be like and I’d like to know more.”

There was an awkward pause before the social worker spoke again and, when she did, there was a faint note of disapproval in her voice. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Mr. Athos, but bringing a child into your life is a major undertaking. I think it might be best for you to take the weekend and make sure this is something you want to do and, more importantly, that it’s something you’re capable of doing. Charles needs you to be sure.”

Athos held on to his temper. If there was ever someone he could not afford to alienate, it was this woman.

“Ms. Royalton, I believe Gene Treville told you some of my background and so you’re aware that I served in the military,” Athos stated. His friends were looking at him concern, but Athos just waved them off.

“Yes.” She sounded cautious and Athos figured he must have let some of frustration bleed into his tone.

“If there was one thing I learned as a soldier, it was that we never leave a man behind,” Athos explained and forced himself to remain polite. “Charles Castelmore is my brother and, I assure you, I have no intention of leaving him behind.”

“Be that as it may, Charles is a child and not a soldier.” Ms. Royalton sighed. “He’s been disappointed too often as it is, Mr. Athos. You need to be absolutely certain, for his sake even more than your own.”

Athos rubbed his forehead. His little brother had managed to exist without him for over a dozen years, so he supposed a few more days wouldn’t hurt. “Is he aware of me?”

The moment of silence before she answered told Athos everything he needed to know.

“Not yet,” Ms. Royalton explained, but then rolled right over her own answer before Athos had a chance to question it. “But Monday is the first step to that. Shall I plan on 9 am?”

Athos groped around on his desk for a pen. “That will be fine, if you’ll just give me your address.”

To his surprise, the social worker laughed at his request. “You really don’t know how this works, do you?” Thankfully, she didn’t wait for a response. “This initial interview will take place in your residence. I’ll need to assess its suitability for a child to live there.”

“Oh,” was Athos’ eloquent reply. His expression must have been as flummoxed as he felt, because his friends became concerned, hissing questions at him in not-so-subtle whispers. Athos made a cutting motion across his throat; the social worker was talking again and he needed to be able to focus on her.

“That’s another reason I thought it best to wait a few days,” Ms. Royalton sounded kind as she continued. “I want to stress that I’m not expecting perfection. In fact, there is really no pass or fail at this point. I just need to see the space you have in mind for Charles so I can make sure that it’s safe and can guide you on what you may need to do in order to meet the requirements.”

“Very well, I shall see you Monday morning at 9 am,” Athos bit back a comment about Charles’ brief residence with a maternal uncle, the one that overdosed on drugs. Had the state, Athos wondered, done a home visit with him?

After working out the details of his address and suggestions on parking, they had nothing left to arrange and Ms. Royalton ended the call with a polite, “I look forward to it.”

Athos placed his phone on the top of his desk as gingerly as if it were a bomb that could go off at any second. When it was safely placed, he buried his head in his hands and spoke without looking up at his friends. “She’s coming to my apartment on Monday morning to make sure it’s suitable to house a 12 year-old boy.”

“Oh, hell.” With two words, Porthos summed up Athos’ thoughts perfectly.

“The weekend should be plenty of time,” Constance rolled her eyes. “Your apartment can’t be that bad, Athos, you’re never there.”

She was right and Athos knew it. Still, he had an extreme level of discomfort at the idea of a stranger in his home, assessing him.

Judging him.

“I’ll be back,” Athos stood abruptly and headed for the back of the office. “I’ll expect a progress report when I return.”

“Athos-!”

Three voices called out to Athos as he rapidly made his way out of the building. There was a small parking area in the rear and, since Athos lived above the office, it was where his vehicle was parked. Within moments, he was in his SUV and guiding it out on the street, no conscious idea in his head of where he was going.

Navigating a vehicle through the streets of New York required concentration and Athos found it a welcome distraction. Eventually, he realized that he did have a destination in mind and it wasn’t a bar. Instead, he found himself at the gates of a cemetery. He was tempted to turn the vehicle back, but after sitting a few moments and just looking at the beautifully manicured grounds, knew that his subconscious had made the right choice.

Athos hadn’t been to the cemetery since the day of his brother had been buried, but he walked unerringly to the family mausoleum. Woodlawn was, of course, an elite graveyard, but even among the rich and famous, the Athos family mausoleum was impressive. It was set off a little from the rest and the white marble of its walls gleamed in the sunshine. 

The drawback to not knowing where he was going until he got there meant that Athos hadn’t called to make arrangements to go inside the mausoleum. Having come so far, however, Athos wasn’t going to let something like that stop him. Athos hadn’t bothered to retrieve his firearm from the gun safe where Porthos had stashed it, but he always kept a small lock pick kit on him. The padlock on the door posed little challenge. Athos made a mental note to rectify that at a later date and went inside.

There was no electricity in the mausoleum, but the skylight in the ceiling provided enough daylight to see by. The Athos family had been using the mausoleum for generations and that meant that the most recent burials were in the back. It was easy to pass by ancestors he wasn’t familiar with, but Athos slowed by his mother’s niche and briefly touched the delicately engraved plaque that bore her name. They hadn’t been particularly close, but Athos had come to admire the dignity with which she’d fought the cancer that killed her. She deserved to be mourned, but the only thing Athos felt was guilt that he didn’t grieve for her more.

Next to his mother’s resting place was his father’s and Athos drew to a stop in front it. The plaque on his father’s niche was heavy and ornate. Athos had seen it before, but hadn’t given it much attention. Now that he did, he noticed that along with his father’s name and the dates of his birth and death, there was also engraved the phrase, “Devoted husband and loving father.”

“It is not fair that you rest here, in the midst of your family and yet you abandoned your youngest child.” Athos spoke quietly, but with a voice full of fury. “You had the audacity to chastise me for bringing Anne into the family and yet you broke your wedding vows while your wife was dying.”

Athos ran a hand through his unruly curls. “If there is any justice after death, then the God that Aramis loves so dearly is holding you accountable for it now. Perhaps God will forgive you for it too; I don’t think that I will.”

Turning his back on his father’s niche, Athos approached his brother’s sarcophagus. It still lay out. It had been almost a decade since Thomas’ murder, but Athos had never made the arrangements to move it into an enclosed niche the way their parents’ were. Where the stone coffin was situated, the sun from the skylight could reach it and Athos hadn’t been able to stand the thought of his little brother being locked away in darkness forever.

Reverently, Athos leaned with one hand against the cool marble and bowed his head in respect. “Hello, Thomas.”

Oddly enough, Athos didn’t feel the need to apologize. He had, so many times in the last years - while crying over Thomas’ cooling corpse; during the middle of the night when sleep would not come; and, to his shame, in a variety of bars across New York City. Surely, Athos thought, if his brother was in an afterlife that allowed him to hear Athos’ pleas for forgiveness, he would have granted it by this time.

“We have a brother,” Athos informed his sibling’s coffin. “He’s all alone in the world, except for me. Poor little bastard.” Athos laughed humorously. “Quite literally a bastard too.”

Athos patted the sarcophagus almost fondly. “You‘re an older brother, Thomas. I think you would be far better at it than I ever was.”

Thomas had only been three years younger than Athos and they’d been close right up until Athos had left for college. He’d tried to stay in touch, but first there was their mother’s death and then there was Anne. Thomas had hated Anne as much as their father had, although Thomas was smart enough not to say anything to Athos once he saw how his brother rebelled against their father’s opinion. After their father died, though, Thomas had taken it on himself to gather evidence against his sister-in-law. That was the point where his intelligence had failed him. Thomas had confronted Anne directly instead of coming to his brother and died because of that choice.

“His name is Charles.” Athos continued. He’d kept his hand on the sarcophagus’ lid, near to where his brother’s name was engraved. The chill from the marble was seeping into deep into his bones, but he ignored it.

“Anne tried to get her hooks into him,” Athos explained. “I almost lost him even before I knew he existed.” He bowed his head briefly and then looked up. “I promise you this – not again. Anne Winter will not take another brother from me; I will not fail Charles the way I failed you.”

Just like all the times that Athos had apologized to his dead brother, his vow received no response. Even so, Athos felt closer to Thomas than he had for a long time. Loathe to lose the feeling, Athos stood by his sibling’s coffin until the spring sunshine coming through the skylight started to fade.

“I have to go,” Athos took his leave of his brother. “But I promise that it won’t be so long before I visit again. Perhaps I’ll bring Charles.”

With a final pat to the sarcophagus, Athos turned and walked out. He touched his mother’s niche briefly again as he strode by, but didn’t spare another glance at his father’s resting place.

When he exited the mausoleum, Athos took a moment to breathe the fresh air deeply. Mausoleums were no place for the living, even someone only half alive as Athos was. He fastened the lock again and headed back to his SUV. He wasn’t all surprised to see that another vehicle had pulled up behind his. Even in his distracted state, he’d known about halfway to the cemetery that he was being followed. 

“Lovely day for a drive,” Aramis drawled when Athos got close enough. He had his ridiculous beige fedora on and was leaning against his vehicle. “You really didn’t think we’d let you go off alone, did you?”

Athos finished walking to him and joined the other man in his position against the SUV. “I thought it would be Porthos.”

Aramis grimaced and took his hat off long enough to run a nervous hand through his hair. “About that. . . . hearing your brother’s story brought up some bad memories for him. He just needed a little space.” The hat went back on Aramis’ head. “I’m sure he’ll be back to his usual sunny self by the time we get back.”

It wasn’t too surprising. Porthos had been a system kid too, although he’d entered foster care at a much younger age than Charles had. Athos tried not to think of another key difference between his friend and his brother – Porthos had also run away from foster care when he wasn’t much older than Charles was now. Athos hadn’t been able to spare Charles from entering the system, but at least he was getting him out of it before Charles was driven to that point.

“You seem more settled,” Aramis commented. Athos wasn’t fooled by the casual-seeming statement.

“I feel more settled,” Athos was surprised to realize it himself, but wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. “Shall we go back to the office and see what Constance and Porthos have found?”

Aramis eyed him in obvious concern. “Are you ready?”

Athos shrugged. “Not even remotely.” He allowed himself a small smile. “But it helps that I won’t be facing it alone.” He wasn’t a man who accepted support gracefully, but the words had come easily for a change.

“Never alone, Athos,” Aramis assured him. “Young Charles doesn’t know it yet, but he’s just been saddled with three brothers.”

“And a sister,” Athos pointed out.

Aramis winced at the reminder. “A very perturbed sister who’s upset that you left your phone in the office.”

“No emergencies?” Athos asked. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he’d left his phone on his desk.

“No, I think she was just frustrated that she wouldn’t be able to trace your phone if you managed to shake me.” Aramis made a dismissive noise. “As if that would ever happen.”

“Of course not,” Athos pushed off from the SUV, choosing not to point out how aware he’d been of Aramis following him. “Shall we return to the office? Constance and Porthos have had plenty of time to dig up at least some of the information on my brother.”

Aramis headed for the driver’s side of his vehicle. “I should think they’d have more than just some of it. Charles is only twelve years old, after all, how much is there to find out?”

The drive back to the office was uneventful, although Aramis insisted driving behind Athos again. The younger man was no doubt concerned that Athos would go haring off on his own and wanted to be in a position to follow. He needn’t have worried. Although there was the a theory beginning to form in the back of his mind that made him uneasy, for the most part, Athos felt lighter, almost buoyant.

That mood lasted until they got back.

Athos walked into the office, Aramis at his heels, prepared to apologize for his absence. Constance and Porthos both looked up, although neither one appeared particularly surprised to see him. Athos may have left his phone behind, but Aramis had not and obviously had been keeping their colleagues up to date. One glance at their faces and Athos’ good mood evaporated.

“Tell me,” Athos sat down at the conference table and braced himself.

“Keep in mind that I’ve only had time for secondary research,” Constance sounded nervous. “Luckily, the local paper in Lupiac keeps an online archive.”

Constance picked her laptop up and connected it to the projector on the table. The latter was directed towards a wall they kept deliberately blank. In a few moments, the picture of a very attractive woman was displayed for all of them to see. Athos, of course, remembered her, although her similarity in appearance to the photo of Charles made it clear who it was.

“Angelica Castelmore,” Constance stated the obvious. “Was raised in upstate New York, in the small town of Lupiac, but left for the city to attend college. Returned five years later, pregnant and not talking about the father. There was no birth announcement listed online, but three years later, I found this.”

The photo changed, this time a wedding photo. Angelica looked about as Athos remembered her, but much happier. The man in the photo was older than Angelica, but the age difference wasn’t nearly as pronounced as it would have been between Angelica and Athos’ father. Athos’ attention was immediately drawn to the toddler sandwiched between the two. The photo had been taken when the little boy was mid-giggle and from the indulgent expressions on both the bride and groom’s face, it had been a marriage of family as much as a ceremony between two people.

“Alexander d’Artagnan was a horse breeder. In fact, the d’Artagnans had been breeding horses for generations and Alexander inherited the farm when his father died,” Constance continued.

“They look happy,” Athos murmured.

Constance sighed. “Not for long.” The next image was that of an obituary. Ironically, it used the same photo of Angelica as before, only cropped to show only her. “A brain tumor. The obituary doesn’t go into detail, but she must have died only months after being diagnosed. Charles would have been about five.”

“And there’s no record that d’Artagnan tried to adopt Charles?” Aramis asked, even though that was a piece of information they’d already been given.

“I haven’t had a chance to search family court records,” Constance explained. “But no, it appears not, although he clearly considered Charles his son.”

There was another picture. This one was of an older Charles, maybe nine or ten years of age. The little boy was wearing a riding helmet of some sort. Alexander d’Artagnan had an arm wrapped around the child’s shoulders and both were beaming from ear to ear.

“This was in the local paper when Charles won a riding competition for his age group,” Constance’s voice grew softer. “It was taken three weeks before Alexander d’Artagnan was murdered.”

The next image was a screenshot of an online news report. It showed the photo of a burned out hulk of a house, with the headline that starkly read, “Local Farmer Killed in Home Invasion.”

Athos felt his stomach twist. “No one said anything about a fire.”

“According to the news stories, neighbors saw the flames and alerted the authorities,” Constance’s face showed compassion. “The first respondents found the house in flames and Charles and his father outside. Alexander d’Artagnan had been stabbed several times, but the boy was unharmed.”

“Physically, that is” Aramis added quietly. “No one walks away from something like that completely unscathed.”

“The media lost interest after a while,” Constance said. “But from what I can tell, Charles wasn’t able to identify the assailant. Poor kid was probably traumatized.” 

Porthos stood next to the table, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. “They never caught the bastard, either.”

“Good,” Athos’ comment caused his three friends’ heads to whip around so they could look at him in surprise. “We’ll catch the bastard – or bastards.”

“Yeah,” Porthos’ answering smile was not pleasant. “We will.”

“Whether there’s enough left of him afterwards to stand for trial, however, is debatable,” Aramis added.

For once, Constance didn’t try to curb her male colleagues’ more bloodthirsty tendencies. “And that’s where Charles’ trail gets cold. Online, that is. There was nothing in the local media about custody being granted to an uncle. I didn’t find anything on James Castelmore, either. Not even an obituary. I’ve got some calls in to some contacts at the NYPD, so I should have detail shortly.”

Athos turned to his other friend, but Porthos was already moving his laptop to the conference table, switching it out for Constance’s. 

“This is Charles’ current social worker, Anne Royalton.” He started. 

An image of another young woman appeared on the screen. It was clearly a photo from a government identification of some sort. The woman’s blonde hair was pulled back into a severe style, but it did little to harden the intrinsic sweetness of her face. Athos was a little surprised; he’d expected someone older.

“Nice,” Aramis murmured softly.

“Mrs. Anne Royalton,” Porthos glared darkly at the other man. “She’s married.”

Aramis, who’d taken the seat next to Athos, grinned. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

Athos added his glare to Porthos’. “The problem is that she is Charles’ social worker. If you pursue this woman, I shall geld you with a dull spoon.”

The hurt look he got from Aramis was genuine. “I was just trying to lighten the mood, Athos. You know I wouldn’t do anything that might interfere with you getting custody of your brother.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Athos told him. He turned back to Porthos. “Charles has only been in the system three years, but surely she’s too young to have been his social worker the whole time?”

Porthos nodded. “You’re right, Charles’ original social worker retired about six months ago. Royalton’s only been with the Child Protection Service for nine months. Fresh out of college and enthusiastic about saving the world, according to my CPS contact. That’s probably why she caught out your ex trying to get custody; she dug a little deeper than most social workers would have.”

“Good.” Athos waited for more, but Porthos simply shrugged. “That’s it?”

“Charles’ records have been flagged by the DA’s office,” Porthos explained. “Flea couldn’t get any details on his foster history or who he’s with now and it’d be worth her job if she got caught. I’ve got some other things I can try, but haven’t had time yet.”

Athos nodded. Felicia Charon, Porthos’ CPS contact, had been in the system with Porthos. Once she’d aged out, she’d gotten a college education and gone right back in, this time as a social worker trying to help kids in the position she’d used to be in. She’d worked far too hard to get where she was to ask her to risk it. “Of course.”

“I’m sorry, Athos,” Porthos apologized, even though there was clearly no need. “That means we don’t know where Charles is and we can’t set up surveillance on him.”

From the glum looks all around, the theory that Athos had been mentally chewing on since the ride back from the cemetery hadn’t occurred to his colleagues. “He should be safe enough for the time being. Anne has the result she wanted.”

Aramis looked at the other two before asking for an explanation. “What do you mean?”

Athos was grim as he explained. “Do you really think that a recent college graduate, no matter how determined, could have seen through Anne’s ploy to gain custody of Charles? Please, my ex-wife is not that sloppy. No, Mrs. Royalton caught on to Anne Winter only because that’s exactly what Anne wanted.”

“That’s not good,” Constance voiced what they were all feeling. “What do you think she wants?”

“For now, I think she clearly wants Charles in my custody,” Athos concluded. “Whatever she has planned next will come after the boy is settled.”

When it would hurt more to lose him.

“So what do we do now?” Constance asked. All three of them looked at Athos expectantly.

“We keep digging, using contacts to find out more if we can,” Athos decided. He smiled at them sheepishly. “And we really do need to clean out that second bedroom of mine. I can’t expect Charles to sleep amongst all the boxes.”

“Food first,” Aramis rubbed his hands together. “We need to out and celebrate.”

“That,” Porthos motioned towards the wall that still showed the photo of the burned-out house. “Don’t seem like something worth celebrating.”

Aramis clapped Athos on the shoulder. “That’s the boy’s past, He has a new family now. Us, and we are definitely worth celebrating.”

Athos’ stomach reminded him that he’d had nothing to eat since breakfast. After learning about Charles, he’d been too shocked to be hungry, but now that he’d gotten over the worst of the surprise, his stomach was reminding him that it was empty – and not just Athos’ stomach either. If Aramis had kept watch at the cemetery the whole time Athos has been inside, he’d likely missed lunch too.

“I could eat.” Athos admitted.

Porthos spread his arms wide. “Then what are we waiting around here for? Let’s go!”

The evening was surprisingly cordial, given how unsettling a day it had been. They went to their favorite diner, one that was close enough to walk to from the office. Its proximity, not to mention the quality of the food, meant they were there often. As a result, the four of them were well known and were always allowed to stay as long as they wanted. They all instinctively avoided the details of Charles’ case and instead told each other stories of their childhoods. During a lull in the conversation, Athos leaned over and asked Constance for a favor.

“Is it possible to get copies of those photos?” Athos asked her. “The wedding picture and the one taken after the equestrian event.” 

He didn’t mean the low resolution images that would have been used to post online. Many newspapers, even from small towns like Lupiac, would be willing to sell reprints of pictures. The first sight Athos had of his brother was the photo of Charles that DeFoix had given him. It had shown the face of a solemn child that had seen more than his fair share of hurt. Seeing the images that Constance had found, namely that the boy had been happy once upon a time, had done Athos a world of good. He’d needed proof of that, because if Charles could be happy once, then he had a chance of being happy again.

“Of course,” Constance assured him, a thoughtful look in her eye. “I’ll make the arrangements on Monday.”

“Thank you,” Athos said. “From the looks of that fire, Charles lost everything. I thought he might want to have a copy.”

“You don’t have to explain to me, Athos,” Constance winked at him.. “I’ll get two copies, just in case.”

When they’d finally ran out of reasons to stay at the diner, the group split up. They walked back to the office, but once there, the others were reluctant to leave.

“Maybe being alone right now isn’t such a good idea,” Porthos suggested. They’d reached the others’ vehicles and Porthos had put a hand on Athos’ arm as he’d moved to head upstairs to his apartment.

“If all goes well, I won’t have many more opportunities to be on my own,” Athos gently rejected the offer. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The others let him leave, reluctant to head out, but respecting his wishes. Athos was touched by their concern, but at the moment, he needed a little breathing room. He hadn’t shared quarters with anyone since the military. Once Charles moved in, assuming Athos was successful in getting custody, then alone time would be at a premium.

Once inside, Athos wandered around the space, trying to get a feel for what it would be like with a child living there. In the end, his imagination wasn’t strong enough to picture it. That sort of thing had always been more Thomas’ strength. The thought hurt, although not as much as it might have in the past. Inevitably, though, Athos turned to his normal method of medicating such thoughts - he went to the cabinet where he kept his liquor. Athos had indulged in a couple of beers at the diner, but felt the need for something stronger.

Someone had gotten there first.

Athos’ hand stopped as he reached to open the door. A photocopy of the picture of Charles that DeFoix had brought was taped to the front of the cabinet. Although all three of his colleagues had access to Athos’ apartment, he quickly discerned that Constance was the most likely culprit. Athos didn’t have anything as remotely practical as tape in his possession and Porthos wouldn’t have thought of bringing it with him.

“Well played, madame,” Athos murmured quietly. He gave the photo a sloppy salute, but dutifully turned away. 

His alone time wasn’t the only thing he was going to be sacrificing in order to be a big brother again – and much to surprise, Athos found he was actually looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that the brothers are going to meet. Right now, looks like that will most likely happen in chapter 6.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a wonder what a good night’s sleep could do. Since he hadn’t experienced one in years, Athos had forgotten the feeling. 

He’d tried to do research of his own the night before, but found the same thing his colleagues had, that the information he wanted to know about Charles’ background wasn’t readily available online. He was tempted to start looking into Anne Winter’s involvement, but it didn’t feel right. He didn’t want the specter of the woman tainting his home, not one little bit. As he’d told the others, he had a feeling that Charles was safe from her at the moment. He could wait to investigate her once he was in the office and away from the home he hoped to share with his brother.

As a result, Athos had gone to bed earlier than he normally would and had managed to fall asleep quickly, despite the lack of alcohol to speed him on his way. Because of that, he woke earlier than usual and felt refreshed to boot, a totally uncustomary sensation.

It was early for a Saturday, but Athos got up and took care of his morning ablutions. He’d even managed to brew a pot of coffee and was in the middle of boxing up the contents of his liquor cabinet when he heard the sound of several people coming up the stairs. The very noise alone identified who it was, even if he hadn’t been expecting them. The Musketeer investigators knew better than to try and sneak up on one another; the nature of their work made surprises downright dangerous.

Athos moved towards the door, opening it abruptly when he heard the footsteps slow down. He stifled a smile at the sight of his friends’ startled expressions. They were not any more used to him being up early than he was.

“It’s a miracle,” Porthos quipped as he recovered from his surprise and shouldered his way into the apartment. “You, up on the weekend before noon.”

“We had an appointment,” Athos retorted. “I’m always very punctual with those.”

“Uh-huh,” Aramis was verbally noncommittal as he followed Porthos inside, but his expression spoke volumes. “I have to say, I like this Charles already; he’s a good influence on you.”

The last was said as Aramis nodded at the box on Athos’ kitchen table. The necks of a variety of bottles stuck out, making it clear what it was holding.

“As I was gently reminded, my brother’s already had one guardian who was an addict,” Athos explained. He nodded towards were Charles’ picture was still adorning his liquor cabinet. “I was going to dump it all, but there’s no reason for the three of you to swear off. Please, take what you want. Something tells me you’ll be earning it, especially over the next few weeks.”

“And how is that going?” Constance had been the last one into the apartment. Her eyes held concern and maybe something more. Athos told himself that it wasn’t pride; simply boxing up some bottles wasn’t cause for that.

He shrugged off the question. “I don’t drink to excess because my body craves it, but to forget. That’s no longer a luxury that I can afford.”

“Here, this will help,” Aramis handed Athos a cardboard cup and he belatedly realized that his friends had not come in empty-handed. In one hand, Aramis had a carrier of takeout cups, along with a white bag that experience told Athos held bakery items. In the other hand, Aramis held the handle of a bucket that was overflowing with old towels. Across his back, the younger man had a duffle bag. It was bulging, but Athos had no idea what it contained.

As he looked more closely at the other two, Athos realized that, other than the coffee, they were similarly burdened. “You look like you came prepared for war.”

“Not war, more like setting the stage,” Porthos dropped his gear on the floor and reached for the bakery bag. “By the time we’re done, this place’ll be spick and span.”

“It’s not all that bad,” Constance looked around the apartment. She’d been there before, although not as often as Aramis and Porthos had. “There’s still work to be done, but it’s not terrible.” She slid a glance at Aramis. “Unlike the apartments of other people in the room that I could name.”

Aramis snorted. “We share an office and I’ve seen the state of your desk. The only reason your house isn’t in the same state is your husband.”

“Yes, Bonnie can hire a cleaning service with the best of them,” Constance retorted, although she didn’t refute the fact that she wasn’t the neatest one in the bunch.

“That might not be a bad idea,” Porthos picked up on the idea even as he picked a cronut out of the bag. “There’s gonna be two of you sharing this place now and you’re bound to be home more. Not like you can’t afford it.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Athos agreed. It was easy enough to keep his apartment clean when it was just himself. Years of being in the military and, before that, boarding school, had taught him that much. To be able to do the same when a pre-teen was in the mix was less likely. He took a swig of coffee and closed his eyes in appreciation. He was capable of drinking coffee that he’d brewed himself, but didn’t particularly enjoy it. “Thank you for this.”

“There is little in this life that a good cup of coffee cannot fix,” Aramis declared. 

“And that sludge don’t count,” Porthos nodded at Athos’ coffee machine. As far as he was concerned, plain, black coffee was a sin. “Now, what’s the plan?”

“I think the first course of action is to move the stored items out of the second bedroom,” Athos told them. “Once everything’s been shifted to the third floor, then the real cleaning can begin.”

“And maybe personalize things a little,” Aramis added. “It is a little stark in here.”

Athos looked around with a new awareness and realized that Aramis was right. His living room had a large leather sectional in a dark slate color and some matching chairs. They were good quality, but plain, as were the end tables. Instead of a coffee table, there was a leather tufted ottoman. All of it was very masculine, but also very plain. Similarly, there were no photos on the wall or knickknacks of any type. The clean lines suited Athos’ nature, but now that Aramis had brought attention to it, he realized it might be a little intimidating for his brother.

“And that monstrosity has got to go,” Porthos looked at Athos’ old-style tube television with something akin to horror. “What century are you living in, Athos?”

It was rare for Athos to watch any TV and so he’d never bothered to upgrade to a flat screen.

“Video games,” Constance chimed in. “Boys love video games; my brothers played the blasted things for hours. You’ll have to decide which system to get.”

“Not to mention a computer, he’ll one need for homework,” Aramis added. “And a phone, mustn’t forget that.”

“Enough,” Athos put an end to the suggestions. “First, let’s dig out a room for the boy to sleep in, then we can worry about how to spoil him rotten.”

His three friends smiled at each other sheepishly, but left off with the impromptu shopping list. It was Aramis who broke the awkward silence by making a fancy bow. “We await your orders.”

“We’ll start with Constance and me sorting,” Athos decided quickly. “Aramis and Porthos, you’ll be ferrying items upstairs.”

After Thomas’ funeral, Athos had upgraded from the occasional weekend with the National Guard to the Army, Special Forces. He’d let his family’s staff take care of selling the Manhattan townhouse that his brother had died in; Athos had no intention of setting foot in it again. The house in the Hamptons didn’t have the same emotional baggage, although neither did Athos have any desire to live there. That residence had simply been shut up, although someone had been hired to keep an eye out on the place.

Upon returning to the USA after his enlistment, Athos discovered that the personal property from the townhouse were being stored in one of the buildings his family had owned as an investment property. When he’d taken over the otherwise empty building for use for his investigation and security service, he simply shifted everything so that it was in one room and rebuilt the rest of the space to suit his needs. The building had three floors and a basement. The third floor was untouched and, since Athos’ had the roof fixed recently, it would be safe to move the stored items there.

The four of them went to the second bedroom and Athos opened the door. As one, they all took a step back. The room was far more crowded than he remembered.

“It was a very large townhouse,” Athos told them when the others looked at him in disbelief. “We needn’t worry about separating out any legal papers or valuable pieces, that chore was taken care of before the remainder was stored in the first place.”

Aramis stepped in and looked at an ornate chest that was stacked at the edge of the pile. “This isn’t considered valuable?”

Athos shrugged. “Expensive in terms of cost, perhaps, but not in artistic or historic value.” 

Constance peeked in the door. “As we sort through, maybe we can find some things to use so that the apartment isn’t quite so stark.”

“Perhaps,” Athos was noncommittal. The townhouse was where Thomas had died and where Athos had been so happy with Anne before she showed her true colors. He really couldn’t see having anything from that cursed place in the apartment that was his current home. 

“Do you really want to keep all this stuff?” Porthos asked, picking up a blanket that covered an ornate mirror and grimacing. “Don’t exactly seem your style.”

“He’s got a point,” Aramis added gently. “Maybe it’s time to start letting go, my friend. Charles represents a new beginning, for both of you.”

“We’ll make three piles,” Athos didn’t directly answer the question, but made it clear that he was ready to take their advice. “One for items that might have a use in the apartment, one for items that will continue to be stored and a third pile for things that seem likely for sale or donation.”

“What about this?” Constance ran appreciative fingers over the mirror that Porthos had unearthed. “Is this a keeper?”

Athos looked at the gold filigree with almost as much disgust as Porthos had used a few minutes earlier. “I think not.” 

“Good!” When the men looked at her, appalled, she blushed. “Bonnie is starting to get some important customers and he wants to spruce up his home studio so it’s a little more impressive. This would be perfect.”

“In that case, it’s his,” Athos turned to Porthos and Aramis. “We’ll need a fourth pile, for anything that Constance thinks that Bonacieux might like.”

Athos was the only one of their group who refused to call Constance’s husband by his nickname, Bonnie. It wasn’t that Athos found it undignified; he just didn’t like the man very much. He put up with him for Constance’s sake, but their marriage was beyond his understanding.

“We’ll pay for anything he might want of course,” Constance assured him.

“Of course,” Athos replied blandly, although he had no intention of following through on charging them anything. Constance, at least, was family and you didn’t charge family.

They quickly worked out a system. Constance would unearth something and soon got a feel for what sort of items would be an emotional burden for Athos. Trunks of women’s clothing went straight into the donate pile; she wouldn’t even let Athos look at them and so he had no idea of they were Anne’s or his mother’s. There were an inordinate amount of books, mostly from his father’s library. Athos looked them over, but there was nothing of interest until he came across a box of children’s classics. He remembered reading the likes of Peter Pan and Treasure Island to Thomas and gingerly set those aside to stay in the apartment. He had no idea if Charles like to read or not, but he liked the continuity of keeping them. Constance fairly beamed at the show of even that small bit of sentimentality.

Porthos and Aramis were in charge of hauling the rest of it to the third floor, with Athos lending a hand on some of the heavier furniture items. They took a quick break for lunch, but they all felt too grubby to go out and so pizza ordered in was the solution. Constance spread a tablecloth she’s found over some boxes and they had an impromptu picnic. Athos’ mother probably would have had a fit if she’d seen the fine Irish damask cloth pressed into such mundane service, but as far as he was concerned, Athos couldn’t think of better use for it.

“We’re making headway,” Porthos looked around the half-empty room.

They could see portions of the floor and the solid wood looked to be in pretty decent shape. The building had been originally been built as a bank and when Athos converted it, he’d had the executive offices on the second floor changed into bedrooms. The two rooms were virtually the same size, with a hallway in between and an en suite bathroom each. The second bedroom had almost been immediately used for storage and so he had only the vaguest of memories of what it looked like. He was pleased to notice a set of built-in bookshelves as well as a decent sized closet. The room would need cleaning once all of the boxes and various miscellaneous items were gone, but it would make a more than adequate room for Charles.

“We better get back at it,” Constance popped a last piece of pizza in her mouth and started gathering up the boxes. “We need to get this room emptied today.”

“You sound a might bit cheerful about that,” Porthos eyed her suspiciously. “You aren’t the one hauling stuff up the stairs.”

“We can switch places if you want,” Constance offered, all sweetness and cooperation. “You can go through all the fripperies down here and decide what’s worth saving.”

It didn’t take long for Porthos to back down. Hauling the stuff was okay, since it was pretty much contained when he got it. Out in the middle of it all, unpacking and packing it so each piece could be assessed was daunting, he felt like the proverbial bull in a china shop. “No thanks, I’m good.”

They went back to the tasks at hand with a better will than the work warranted. Even though each object unearthed had the potential to be an emotional time bomb, Athos found himself relaxing as the afternoon went on. Yes, seeing many of the items caused old emotions to resurface, but to his profound relief, not all of them were bad. Anne had resided in the townhouse for less than a year, but Athos had spent a lot of time there while growing up. He didn’t choose many items to bring out into the apartment, but overall he kept more than anticipated, although the discard pile was a healthy size too.

“I do believe that’s all of it,” Athos grabbed the last box and looked around the room in satisfaction. Now that it was mostly empty, it seemed much larger. 

“Let’s take this up to the boys and make plans for tomorrow,” Constance suggested. She stretched and Athos winced when she grimaced. He remembered the way his back had protested a few minutes ago when he’d done the same thing.

Luckily the last box wasn’t too heavy and Athos was able to haul it up to the third floor before Aramis or Porthos came down from their last trip. Constance followed along behind him and when they reached it, , Athos blinked. The other two men had been doing more than merely carrying objects. From what he could tell, they were separated by category.

“Gentlemen, you do good work,” Athos complimented them. Not that there was any doubt they were being extremely helpful, but they’d gone above and beyond. Aramis took the box from him and, after taking a quick look inside, added it to one of the piles.

"This is amazing,” Constance agreed. “Athos, do you mind if I bring Bonnie by in the next day or two? I’m sure he’ll be interested in purchasing some things.”

Athos spread his hand in an all encompassing gesture. “You’re welcome to anything you want. You all are.”

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” Porthos picked up an ornate candelabra that was dripping with crystals. “Not exactly my style.”

“This seems like a good stopping point,” Aramis looked out one of the windows and Athos could see that the sun was starting to go down. “Tomorrow we can concentrate on cleaning up.”

“And some shopping does need to be done,” Constance added. “We unearthed a bed frame, but we need a mattress, not to mention sheets, towels.. .”

“Enough, Constance,” Athos felt very tired. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

“Yeah,but tonight you’re treatin’ us to dinner,” Porthos declared, draping an arm across Aramis’ shoulders.

“I am?” Athos asked, not so much that he was disinclined to reward his friends’ hard work with a meal, but that as tired and sweaty as they all were, that they’d really want to go out.

“Hell yeah and not pizza this time, either. I’ve worked up a steak-sized appetite.” Porthos grinned.

“I’m not sure I’d want to eat the food at any restaurant that would take us in our current state,” Athos pointed out. They were all grubby and, frankly, stank.

Aramis made a pretense of taking a whiff of Porthos and moving away. “Point taken. Good thing, though, that we brought a change of clothes.”

“You came prepared,” Athos said in a dry tone. 

“Not me,” Constance said. “I’m going to head out now, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Athos, in a rare gesture, leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

Constance blushed. “You’re quite welcome. I’ll see you in the morning.” She headed for the door, but before she left, she turned and wagged her finger at them. “You boys stay out of trouble.”

Porthos grinned at her. “Us? Trouble?”

Aramis sniffed. “Perish the thought.”

“Yeah, right,” Constance scoffed. “Try that innocent act on someone who doesn’t know you. Good night, boys, and behave.”

After she left, the three friends looked at each other and grinned. Or, Aramis and Porthos grinned, while one corner of Athos’ mouth twitched upwards.

“I guess we’ve been given our orders,” Athos stated.

“And there’s a steak out there calling my name,” Porthos rubbed his hands together. “Let’s get cracking.”

It didn’t take the former soldiers long to clean up and soon they were headed out. There was a restaurant not too far away that served a decent steak and wasn’t too fancy. Athos had spent the entire day steeped in the relics of his past in an effort to prepare for a completely unexpected future. By unspoken agreement, the three friends avoided any discussion of anything remotely family-related and he was grateful for the kindness. 

The time and meal went quickly and Athos found himself feeling particularly mellow, despite only having one glass of wine with the meal. He was in such a good mood, in fact, that he’d even allowed himself to be talked into stopping at an electronics store.

“We’re not watching the game on that dinosaur television of yours,” Porthos told him in no uncertain terms.

“And what game is this?” Athos asked, but mildly. In truth, he didn’t really want the evening to end either.

“Soccer, of course,” Aramis looked at him in disbelief that Athos had even needed to ask. In their years overseas, all of them had becomes fans of the game.

Athos couldn’t help but tease by continuing to question. “Isn’t it the wrong time of year for that?”

Aramis slung a friendly arm around his shoulder. “In every country except the USA, soccer is the most popular sport. There’s always a game somewhere.”

And so Athos found himself in a big box electronics store arguing with Porthos over the size of televisions. Porthos wanted him to get one that was truly monstrous in size, whereas Athos would have been satisfied with something far more modest. Thanks to Aramis’ intervention, Athos ended up with something in between.

It was when they were back in his apartment setting the blasted thing up that Athos realized something. He sat back on his heels and looked up at his friends in something akin to wonder. “You have no intention of leaving me alone, do you?”

“Just now figuring that out?” Porthos grinned at him. “You’re an observant one, ought to be a detective or something.”

“And, no, we’re not leaving you alone tonight,” Aramis added. “Not tonight of all nights, so don’t even think of asking us to leave.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” That wasn’t quite the truth, but Athos knew how stubborn his friends were. If they were truly determined that he needed company, then neither heaven nor hell would move them. And, if Athos were being entirely truthful with himself, neither did he want them to go. “Thank you.”

“None of that,” Porthos corrected him. “You don’t thank family.”

“Although if you truly wanted to thank us, we might get back to work,” Aramis added. “I wasn’t kidding about wanting to see the game.”

In the end, they did get the new television set up in time to see some sort of soccer game, although Athos couldn’t say what teams or even what countries were involved. The old TV was banished to the third floor; Porthos declared it too outdated to set up in Charles’ room and Athos wasn’t convinced that a pre-teen needed his own television anyway. It was hard to say who fell asleep first, but Athos had to admit he took comfort from not being alone. He had an unheard of second good nights’ sleep in a row, despite the fact that he slept on one of the chairs in the living room and not in his own bed. 

The next morning was a repeat of the one before, with the addition of Porthos pouting about the lack of syrup, whip cream, or sprinkles to add to his coffee. Thankfully, Constance arrived before the big man was forced to drink his coffee sweetened with plain sugar. Like the morning before, she came with coffee and pastries.

Unlike the morning before, however, Constance had her husband with her.

“God bless you, woman,” Porthos was on Constance the moment she walked in. “Please tell me you have real coffee in one of those cups.”

Laughing, Constance picked out the largest cup in the tray and handed it to him. “One double venti soy, two pumps hazelnut and extra foam on top.”

Porthos took a big gulp and smiled, headless of the foam mustache. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”

“And sustenance as well,” Aramis relieved her of the bag of pastries. “Our Athos is an ascetic; he seems to exist on toast and bad coffee alone.”

Through the bantering, Bonacieux stood stoically, his stiffness in stark contrast to his wife’s lively personality.

“Bonacieux,” Athos nodded at the man. “I understand that you’ll be able to relieve me of some my stockpile of junk.”

“One man’s junk is another man’s treasure,” Aramis corrected. “Much of it may not be your style, Athos, but none of it could be categorized, even loosely, as junk.”

Athos shrugged. “In any case, I thank you. Whatever you take will be that much less that will be necessary for me to have hauled away.”

Bonacieux cleared his throat and, if anything, looked even more uncomfortable. “That’s not actually why I asked Constance if I could accompany her today.”

“Really?” Athos prompted when the man didn’t seem inclined to go on. He noticed that Constance gave her husband an encouraging look and put one hand on his arm as though in support.

“Constance told me about your efforts to gain custody of your brother,” Bonacieux continued. “As you may know, I was raised by my grandmother after my parents died.”

As it happened, Athos did know rather a lot about Jack Bonacieux’s background. Constance’s older brother had been a comrade of theirs while in the Army. Her sibling was still enlisted and overseas, in fact, and when Constance had suddenly married and followed her husband to New York, he’d asked them to keep an eye out on her. When she’d figured out what was going on, Constance had given them an earful about going too far in their investigation of her spouse and that her arrangement with Bonacieux was none of their business. She couldn’t have been too angry, however, because the contact had led to Constance joining the then-new Musketeers Security and Investigations Company, something that none of them regretted. 

“I am aware, yes,” Athos replied. The grandmother was the whole reason that Bonacieux was married to Constance, he apparently loved the old woman too much to tell her that he was gay and risk getting booted from her life. Athos sympathized, but didn’t entirely approve. Constance was far too good a woman to waste years married to a man who wasn’t capable of loving her back, not like a true husband would.

Or maybe Athos was just overly sensitive to the combination of marriage and deception, however well-meaning.

Bonacieux nodded. “I’ve experienced being raised by someone who had to unexpectedly take a child in and lived through some of the difficulties that can arise. I wanted to offer my services.”

Athos wasn’t sure he’d heard that correctly. “Excuse me?”

“Your hours are irregular at times,” Bonacieux explained rather than repeating himself. “And I work out of my studio in our home. If you should need someone to watch Charles for you, after school or on an evening when you get called out, I would be happy to do it.”

Floored, Athos could only look at the other man in surprise. He hadn’t taken great pains to hide his disapproval of the other man and yet Bonacieux had made a generous offer anyway. Clearly, Athos had been wrong in his assessment of Constance’s husband.

Bonacieux, however, took Athos’ silence for something else. “Unless, of course, you’re worried about a gay man seducing your impressionable younger brother.” His voice was laden with bitterness.

Constance gasped and both Aramis and Porthos gaped, but Athos moved before any of them could say something. He stepped forward and held out his hand to Bonacieux. The other man looked at him warily, but carefully took it.

“We have not been friends and that’s my fault,” Athos admitted. “I couldn’t understand why Constance would marry someone who didn’t love her as a husband.”

“And I told you that my marriage was none of your business,” Constance huffed, glaring at Athos anew.

“Yes, you did, several times, in fact and in excruciating detail,” Athos smiled thinly at her before turning back to Bonacieux and shaking his hand before letting go. “And she’s right. I’m sorry that I misjudged you.” He took a deep breath, apologizing was not an easy task for him. “Even if I never approved of your arrangement, however, I would never consider you capable of harming a child – under any circumstances. I will gladly take you up on your offer to assist with Charles. That’s a piece I’ve been concerned about.”

Bonacieux actually blushed and seemed as uncomfortable with receiving the praise as Athos was in giving it. “I was nearly placed into foster care myself. If I can help a child escape it, however, indirectly, count me in.” 

“That’s lovely, but can we eat now?” Porthos asked plaintively. 

The big man’s comment broke the tension nicely, but as they gathered around the table, Athos noticed that Porthos made a point of slapping Bonacieux on the back and Aramis even shook Constance’s husband’s hand. Although the other two men hadn’t been as leery of Bonacieux as Athos’ had, they usually weren’t so friendly with him either. Obviously, Bonacieux had impressed them as much as he had Athos.

After the pastries had been divvied out, Constance nodded at the new television. “I see you boys went shopping last night,” 

“Just for one of the basics” Porthos grinned. “Made sure it works fine too.”

Constance pulled a notepad out of her purse. “I’ve started a list, but I know it’s just the beginning.”

Aramis looked over her shoulder. “What’s the damage so far?”

Constance looked at Athos for permission and he nodded. “The bathroom needs kitted out, so towels and a shower curtain. For the bedroom, a mattress and everything that goes with it. A nightstand and lamp, a desk-“

“Nix that last one,” Porthos swallowed the last of his donut. “We found some stuff on the third floor from when this place was still a bank. There’s a couple desks up there.”

“Some of the supplies needed are of the perishable kind,” Aramis had finished his breakfast and taken to looking through Athos’ cabinets. They were practically bare. “I’m surprised you haven’t died of scurvy, my friend.”

Athos wasn’t bothered by the teasing. “As long as I have a telephone, I’m only minutes away from the finest takeout the city has to offer.”

“You might want to stock up on a few basics, just so the social worker knows you’re theoretically capable of feeding the boy yourself” Porthos suggested. “It’ll be a red flag if there’s no food in the house.”

“Groceries, got it.” Constance added to her list. “What about pots and things to cook in?”

“No, he looks to be reasonably well stocked,” Aramis had bent down to check the lower cabinets, but looked up to grin up at the group of friends. “They look to be in pristine condition too.”

“’He’ is standing right here,” Athos had been patient enough with the teasing. “And I am capable of cooking, it’s just too much trouble for one person.”

“Uh-huh,” Aramis patted his shoulder as if in comfort. “We believe you.”

“Bonnie and I will start with the groceries,” Constance snapped her notebook closed. “By the time we’re done with that, the other stores will be open.”

None of the others complained at the division of work; shopping wasn’t their forte. The possible exception was Porthos, but only where weapons were concerned.

After Constance and her husband left, the three friends turned their attention to Charles’ future bedroom. Not only was it the main focus of their efforts, but it needed the most work. After having been used as a storage room for years, it was filthy – and so were they by the time the floors and walls had been scrubbed down.

Aramis and Porthos took Athos to the third floor and showed him the desks they’d found there. They were massive, solid wood pieces, obviously from a different era. Thankfully, they were also rather plain, so wouldn’t seem too ostentatious in the room of a child. Athos picked out the smallest one, but the three of them were still hard-pressed to get it to Charles’ bedroom. After a second thought, Athos went back for a small table. Charles would need to have something beside his bed.

After they got the desk cleaned up and positioned, they took a moment to admire their efforts.

“Could use some paint,” Aramis commented as they looked around. 

He was right. The white walls were scuffed and chipped in several places, made to look even more dingy with the now-gleaming desk in comparison.

“Not just yet,” Athos disagreed. “I thought the boy might want to have a say in what color his room is.”

“Good call,” Porthos agreed. “Foster kids don’t get that kind of choice often. He’ll appreciate that.” The big man looked a little uncomfortable. “I’ve got another suggestion.”

Athos encouraged him when Porthos seemed reluctant to continue. “Speak up. Out of all of us, you’ve got the best insight on what Charles might need or how he might feel. I’m going to need all the help I can get, so please, suggest away.”

“I got to thinking, about what I wished I’d had the most when I moved into a new foster home, “Porthos told them. “And sometimes even after I’d lived there a while.”

“What?” Aramis put his hand on Porthos’ arm.

“A lock for my door,” Porthos said, not looking either of his friends in the eye. “A nice, sturdy deadlock that I could lock from the inside and no one could get in.”

The implications of his statement made Athos’ blood run cold and, from the stricken look on Aramis’ face, he felt the same way. Porthos had confided to them years ago about growing up in the system, but it was hard to reconcile the thought of a scared foster child as compared to the large, confident man that Porthos had become. It was even harder, though, for Athos to realize that his very own baby brother might be in the same position.

“A lock sounds like a splendid idea,” Athos replied. His voice was a bit rough and he had to clear his throat before continuing. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

Porthos’ face lit up. “I did more than thought of the idea, I brought one with me. While you two set up the bed frame, I’ll go ahead and install it.”

That’s what they did, with Aramis and Athos assembling the metal bed frame so that it would be ready when a mattress was purchased. Porthos made short work of the lock, a brand that even Aramis had difficulty picking. By the time they got a text that Constance and Bonacieux needed help carrying up the groceries, Charles’ room was pretty much ready. Athos was beginning to have a good feeling about the whole process.

It took five adults two trips each to carry in the supplies from the SUV and Athos’ newfound confidence wavered a little.

“How much did you buy?” Athos exclaimed as he looked around his kitchen. Bags covered every surface.

Constance was undaunted by his dismay. “Don’t worry, I used my corporate credit card.”

“When you’re starting from nothing, it takes a lot to stock a kitchen,” Aramis commented as he dug through the nearest bag. “We probably should get the cold things put away, but leave the rest so we can wipe down the cabinets while they’re still empty.”

“Oy, all this food and we’re not having lunch?” Porthos complained.

Athos sighed. “How does Chinese sound?”

“Sounds like you’re buying,” Aramis clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

Lunch was a light-hearted affair, with even Bonacieux relaxing enough to enjoy the banter, even if he didn’t unwind quite enough to join in.

“I always wanted a younger brother,” Aramis declared when conversation came back to Charles. “Someone I can pass down my hard-won knowledge of the fairer sex to.”

Athos choked on a lo mein noodle. “You think you’re going to teach my younger brother about women?”

“Why not?” Aramis’ face radiated innocence. “Who is more qualified?”

Constance made an unladylike snort. “Me, that’s who.” 

Aramis pointed his fork at her in accusation. “You’d betray your own gender that way?”

“Teaching an impressionable young man how to treat women with respect isn’t exactly a betrayal,” Constance countered, her dancing eyes showing how much she was enjoying the debate. 

Help, when it came, was from an unexpected quarter.

“Perhaps that’s something that Athos would like to discuss with his brother himself,” Bonacieux commented quietly.

All eyes turned to Athos, who must have looked as uncomfortable as he felt with the turn the conversation had taken. He’d barely begun to wrap his head around what having responsibility for a younger brother would be like - a future talk with the boy about sex hadn’t even occurred to him.

Porthos guffawed and slapped Athos on the shoulder. “Let’s leave off the talk about women, Athos here is scared enough as it is.”

“Thank you,” Athos murmured softly, his gaze touching on both Bonacieux and Porthos to let them know he appreciated their intervention.

After that disturbing conversation, the rest of the lunch was mundane by comparison. After a quick clean up, Constance and her husband headed out to the stores again.

“And, Constance,” Athos warned his colleague as they were leaving. “A little restraint, please.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t max out the credit card,” she assured him, misunderstanding the reason behind his request.

“It’s not that, it’s just that I want Charles to be able to personalize his space as he sees fit,” Athos explained. “So try not to buy enough to the fill the room back up again, if you will. Just the basics.”

“Just the basics, I promise,” her face softening at his explanation. “And my idea of basics doesn’t include a television the size of a house, either.”

Athos breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Good.”

To his surprise, Constance walked back the few steps to kiss him on the cheek. “You’re already a great brother, Athos. Charles is going to be one lucky boy.”

After the couple left, Athos turned to the task at hand to see Aramis and Porthos looking at him fondly.

“I still say I’m her favorite,” Aramis claimed, eyes twinkling.

“Rubbish,” Porthos disagreed. “She slapped you in the first five minutes we met her.”

“That’s what I mean,” Aramis supported his point. “Women always slap the ones they like.”

Athos was aware that neither man harbored any romantic feelings for Constance, sham marriage or not. They all thought of her as a sister, but that did not mean that the two friends didn’t have a competition going as to which one was her favorite. The easy, familiar banter went a long ways towards settling him down.

“Has it occurred to you gentlemen, given the level of concern Constance is showing towards preparing for Charles’ eventual arrival, that both of you may already have been replaced as the top of her affections?” Athos suggested in a dry tone of voice. “The picture is, after all, quite compelling.”

As one, they turned to the picture of Charles that was still taped to Athos’ former liquor cabinet.

“Never compete against animals or children,” Aramis sighed dramatically. “Those big eyes get to women every time.”

“Come on, you.” Porthos shrugged off the implication easy enough. “Some hard work will help you forget your broken heart.”

The rest of the apartment didn’t need the heavy cleaning that the repurposed storage room did and so the three men split up. Athos took his own bedroom and let Aramis and Porthos figure out the rest. His Spartan style served him well when it came to cleaning; there simply wasn’t much clutter to work around. Athos took the added step of straightening his closet, though. That was where his gun safe resided and he had a feeling that the social worker would want to see for herself that his firearms were stored as safely as possible.

By the time Athos was finished, the other two were nearly done as well, so he took a quick shower. When he finished, he discovered that Constance and Bonacieux had arrived while he was cleaning up. Aramis and Porthos were already hefting the box spring of a mattress into the apartment, with the Bonacieuxes right behind them with the mattress. 

“You just had to insist on a Queen-sized bed for the boy, didn’t you?” Porthos groused as Athos held the door open for them. “What’s a kid need with a bed that big?”

“Children have a disturbing tendency to grow up,” Athos answered in an even tone. “And the room’s big enough for the larger size, so why not?”

“I’ll remind you of that when Charles is sixteen and wanting to do homework in his room with his female study partner and the door closed,” Aramis panted as he held up his end of the box spring. It wasn’t that heavy, but the apartment was on the second floor and there was no elevator. 

“And who will have taught him that, hmm?” Constance asked, setting her end of the mattress down and wiping at her forehead.

Porthos chuckled. “No one. Every teenage boy ever born learns that one for himself.”

Athos was quick to change the subject. “So how badly damaged is the credit card now?”

“Not bad at all,” Constance assured him. “You lot get the mattress set up and Bonnie and I will fetch the rest of the loot from the car.”

“It will take two of you?” Athos wasn’t pleased. He wasn’t worried about the money spent, only that the room would be too full for Charles to personalize himself. “That doesn’t bode well.”

Constance shrugged. “You don’t want your brother sleeping on a bare mattress, do you? Setting up a bed takes a mattress pad, sheets, pillows, a comforter. . . .”

“All right, all right, you’ve made your point.” Athos conceded. “I want Charles to be comfortable.”

He had to admit that, once the rest of the supplies had been brought in, that Constance had done her shopping with a keen eye and every bit as much restraint as he’d asked for. For the bed, she’d bought a denim comforter, a very practical choice for a preteen boy, as well as the necessary sheets and other accouterments. She carried the blue theme through to the bathroom, with towels and a shower curtain in various shades of blue. The room still rather empty when everything was set up, but at least there were splashes of color.

“Nicely done, Mrs. Bonacieux,” Athos praised her as he surveyed the room with satisfaction. It practically gleamed with cleanliness and now had a bed ready and waiting. He didn’t forget the contributions of the others, though, and turned to encompass all of them. “Thank you all.”

Porthos was shaking his head before Athos even finished speaking. “You don’t need to thank family – you lot taught me that.”

“Perhaps not,” Athos conceded. “But the least I can do is feed you. Please, stay for dinner.”

“Stay?” Aramis asked. “Not go out?”

“Since Constance and Bonacieux were so kind to stock my kitchen,” Athos explained, “I thought I would cook supper for all of you.”

Porthos, as usual, got straight to the point. “You don’t usually thank people by givin’ ‘em food poisoning.”

Athos gave him a look that had withered lesser men. “I can cook. Simple dishes, at least. From some comments earlier, there seems to be some question about my ability to feed Charles. I’d like to set those concerns to rest.”

“This I have to see,” Porthos muttered. 

“Careful, my friend,” Aramis teased. “You may end up eating those words.”

Athos took a few minutes to orient himself to his newly restocked kitchen and quickly decided that pasta would be the way to go. It was an easy dish and could stretch to feed a group. As he started chopping and preparing, Constance and her husband settled on the couch and chatted with him to keep him company. Aramis and Porthos cleaned up from their cleaning efforts and then joined them.

Thanks to a breakfast bar, the kitchen was open to the living area, so Athos could follow the conversation while he prepared the meal. He kept it simple, knowing he’d never live it down if he messed up. Thankfully, it was difficult to ruin spaghetti and about the time Porthos started teasing that there was still time to order take out, Athos was able to tell his friends that the meal was done. Rather than setting the table, he just got out plates and silverware, allowing each person to dish up their own serving before sitting at the table. When they were all seated, Aramis led them in prayer and then. . . . nothing. No one moved to start eating.

Athos finally dug into his own dinner and was relieved to discover that it was fine. He chewed slowly, looking at each of his friends in turn. Finally, it was Porthos who caved. He took a big forkful, taking time to wrap the noodles around his fork before lifting it to his mouth. The others watched intently as he chewed, eyes closed at first, but then they suddenly popped open.

“Well?” Aramis asked.

Porthos’ big grin broke out. “Delicious. Athos, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

There was a nervous round of laughter and then the others started to eat too. Like Porthos, they were vocal with their comments. Athos didn’t know whether to be flattered by the compliments on his cooking or offended that they were so surprised. In the end, he decided to be flattered. Athos had to admit to himself that hadn’t done such a good job of taking care of himself the last couple of years. That, like so many other things, would have to change.

After the meal, Athos had to prove that he knew how to use the dishwasher and that, in fact, it was still in working condition. After that, the real battle began – getting his friends to leave.

“Go home,” he finally said bluntly after Constance was the latest to make an excuse for staying, as if Athos would really believe she and her husband would have any interest in watching a soccer game with the rest of them. “I appreciate your concern, but I really will be fine tonight.”

Especially since his box of booze had mysteriously disappeared over the weekend, something which didn’t bother Athos at all.

“You sure?” Porthos asked.

“I’m positive,” Athos assured them. “Now, go. You’ll be short-staffed in the office tomorrow, at least for the morning. Besides, you’ve given all your time to me this weekend and I’m sure that you have concerns of your own to take care of tonight.”

“All right,” Constance let her husband gently guide her towards the door. “But remember, be hospitable and offer her coffee. I already set the machine up so it’s not the industrial strength that you make.”

“I’ll remember,” Athos promised her, managing a smile for the couple as they left to go home. He turned to his two remaining friends. “You as well.”

Seeing the determination on his face, they relented, if reluctantly

“We’ll go, but I expect a phone call by 8 am,” Aramis warned him. “Otherwise both Porthos and I will show up here and drag you out of bed if we have to – and you know how much he enjoys yanking people out of bed.”

Porthos grinned and cracked his knuckles.

“I appreciate the offer, but it won’t be necessary,” Athos assured him as both of his friends stopped just short of going out the door. “It’s only an interview.”

“Ri-ight,” Porthos said, the hint of sarcasm in his voice indicating that he didn’t believe Athos’ casual attitude about it for a minute. Being a good friend, though, he didn’t comment further.

Suddenly overwhelmed, Athos reached out and grabbed and each of them by the back of the neck, bringing their foreheads together. “Thank you.”

His friends seemed to understand that Athos meant for much more than just the physical work they’d labored on all weekend, but also for the emotional support that he couldn’t even express that he’d needed. They stayed that way for a moment and then broke apart.

“Anytime, brother,” Porthos said softly.

“You’d do the same for us,” Aramis added. “In fact, have done the same for us.”

It was true. When Aramis had been the lone survivor in an ambush that had taken place when he’d been loaned out to a different Special Forces unit that had needed his sniper skills, Athos and Porthos had refused to leave his side until Aramis was no longer suicidal. Even after, they’d been there to bolster him throughout his survivor’s guilt. As for Porthos, Athos saw the other man’s ability to rise above a most challenging childhood to becoming an elite soldier as a triumph and brutally suppressed any suggestion otherwise from smaller-minded Army personnel, officers and enlisted alike. He’d had their backs and always would, it just felt decidedly odd to be on the receiving end of that kind of support.

“Tomorrow, 8 am,” Aramis put his hand up as though he were holding a phone. “You better answer.”

“I will,” Athos promised.

“And if you’re good and up on time, I’ll keep Constance from coming up here to make sure the coffee pot’s goin’ or that you’re dressed appropriately,” Porthos offered. “Don’t want her to scare the social worker off.”

Aramis clapped Athos on the shoulder and made one last comment before he finally stepped out of the apartment. “Just be yourself, Athos. You’re one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known; that’s sure to come through.” 

He left before Athos could respond. Porthos just nodded, clearly agreeing with what Aramis had said and not feeling the need to add any more. Athos shut the door behind them and then leaned against it for a moment. He was grateful for their faith in him, but could only hope that it was well founded.

When he turned back around, the apartment felt oddly empty. Before he’d left the Army, Athos had always lived with other people. First, at home and then boarding school, followed by college. When he’d come home from college, there’d been Anne and after Anne, it was the Army. He’d told himself that he’d craved the solitude and for years, that had been true. He’d been too broken to inflict himself on any sort of roommate. This weekend had shown him, though, that not only could he live with other people again, but that he would thrive on it. Maybe Anne Winter hadn’t damaged him permanently after all.

Despite his epiphany, Athos was still relieved that his friends weren’t around to see him fuss. There was no other word for it. Athos drifted around the apartment, straightening things that were already neatly in order and making minute changes to the positions of the furniture. He made sure to move the picture of Charles from the former liquor cabinet and used one of his take-out restaurant magnets to affix it on the refrigerator. As soon as the dishwasher stopped running, Athos emptied it, not wanting the social worker to find it full of dishes, even if they were clean. He even pulled clothes together for the next day, even if it did make him feel like a teenager getting ready for a date.

Inevitably, Athos ended up in the room that would be Charles’ and he stretched out on the bed, trying to figure out what it might be like for a child. The room seemed a little empty, but the bed was comfortable. Athos shot off a text to Constance, reminding her of getting copies of the photos from the Lupiac newspaper. Having pictures of his parents in the room might make it feel a little bit like home for Charles.

Eventually, Athos gave up and went to bed, mostly for a lack of anything better to do. Unfortunately, his streak of nights of good sleep was over and dreams woke him up several times, although he couldn’t remember what they were about. He’d set his alarm, but gave up and left the bed well before he needed to. He was showered, beard freshly trimmed and dressed well before the 8 am deadline that Aramis had imposed.

Athos cursed Constance’s efficiency in setting his coffee machine up already. He didn’t dare brew anything for himself and disturb what she’d so carefully set up for use with the social worker. He looked at the clock and saw he still had time before 8 am, so muttering under his breath, he left the apartment and headed towards the coffee shop down the street. The barista recognized him, but was surprised to see him there so early.

“Good morning, Athos. Just for you or for everybody?” Jolene asked, toning down her normally chipper voice just a little. She knew Athos well enough to know that he didn’t handle excessive cheerfulness well in the morning.

“For everyone, Jolene, thank you” Athos was grateful for her knowledge of all of his colleagues. It saved him from the embarrassment of having to order Porthos’ overly fancy drink.

Thanks to the Jolene’s efficiency, Athos was walking into the first floor office right on the stroke of 8 am, gifts of coffee in his hands. Aramis looked pleased to see him, but Porthos was close to pouting.

“My apologies, my friend, there will be no dragging of lazy asses out of bed this morning,” Athos told him as he made a point to give Porthos his coffee first.

“Well, this makes up for it,” Porthos let the steam wafting up from the cup bathe his face. “Ah, Jolene was working this morning.”

Athos lifted one eyebrow in surprise. “How did you know?”

“She likes Porthos,” Aramis walked over to get his own cup, a latte of some sort, but significantly plainer than what Porthos drank. “There’s always an extra pump or two in his when Jolene makes it.”

“I still think that sounds vaguely obscene,” Athos murmured, but turned away before Aramis could comment. “And tea for the lady.”

“Thank you,” Constance took her cup from him, but didn’t look at it. Instead, she was eyeing him head to foot. “You clean up nice.”

Athos owned a few suits that he wore when he was required to testify or needed to go undercover where anything less formal would be too conspicuous. He hated them, though, and so had instead gone with a good pair of jeans, a button-front shirt in light blue and a navy sport coat. He thought it was professional enough to show he was serious, but casual enough that he wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.

“Are you ready?” Aramis asked quietly.

“As I’ll ever be,” Athos shrugged. “I think I’ll work upstairs until Ms. Royalton gets here. I’ll use my laptop to fill out the report on the Torrez case.”

“If we see her pull up, we’ll warn you,” Porthos promised. Athos knew damn well that there was no ‘if’ about it; his friends would be watching.

“Thank you,” Athos tried to smile, but knew it failed miserably when Constance winced.

“Just be yourself,” Aramis encouraged him.

“Don’t forget the coffee,” Constance warned. “It’s not just polite, but shows you care.”

Athos looked at Porthos, expecting a comment from him too, but the big man just shrugged. 

“You got this,” Porthos was full of confidence. “You don’t need any advice from me.”

Bolstered by his friends’ caring and confidence, Athos next smile was a little more genuine. He exited through the back of the office and jogged up the steps. Once back inside his apartment, he set his cell phone out where he’d be sure to know when it rang and then powered up his laptop. He checked his email first and was pleased to see a message from Gerald DeFoix. The man not only had a recommendation for the best family lawyer in the city, but had already set up an appointment for Athos later in the week. DeFoix also had a recommendation for the school that his daughter, Lucie, attended and Athos filed that information for further consideration. 

After considering for just a moment, Athos replied to the email, thanking his friend for the information and asking for another favor. Bonacieux’s offer to watch Charles when necessary was a welcome one and Athos planned on taking him up on it, but he was too good a strategist not to have a back-up plan. DeFoix would be a good alternative for times when Bonacieux wasn’t available.

After that, Athos forced himself to dive into the Torrez report. Athos found even the most mundane parts of the actual investigation process itself interesting, but writing up the results was tedious at best. At least in this case, he had the satisfaction of knowing that what he’d discovered not only exonerated a woman completely innocent of breaking her marriage vows, but would also result in a serious hit to an unpleasant man’s bank account. Musketeers Security and Investigations would keep only a portion of what they were overcharging Torrez; Athos knew his colleagues would have no issues in making sure the bulk of the extra of it went to Torrez’s son. The bigot would end up supporting his child, one way or another, although Athos made a mental note to have a chat with a friend of his on the police force. Mrs. Torrez might need some protecting if her husband didn’t react well to finding out she was working to support the son he’d disowned.

Athos was just finishing his report when he got an email alert. It was DeFoix and the man enthusiastically agreed to watch over Charles, should the need arrive. That was a relief. DeFoix lived in the wrong part of the city to be convenient, but at least there was a contingency in place, should Athos need it. He was just drafting a response, when his phone blew up. Athos got three texts almost simultaneously and he didn’t even need the identifiers to know which one was from which friend.

**target sited** 

**pic doesn’t do her justice**

**coffee!!!**

Constance’s reminder was the least necessary, since the machine was on an automatic timer and had started brewing already. Athos made quick work of closing the document he was working on. Torrez might be an ass, but he deserved privacy and Athos didn’t want the social worker seeing something she shouldn’t. Mostly, though, it gave him something to do in the agonizing moments it took Ms. Royalton to make her way from her car to Athos’ door.

Unlike with his friends, Athos knew he had to wait for a knock, so he didn’t move when he heard footsteps outside his door. Once the knock came, he took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his jeans, and made sure he had a pleasant expression on his face as he opened the door.

Aramis was right; photos didn’t do her justice.

Ann Royalton was a petite woman, but her expression was anything but dainty. If anything, he would call it determined. Her hair was pulled up in a no-nonsense bun and her suit, while exquisitely tailored, was plain. Athos was amused to see that it was almost exactly the same navy blue as his own jacket. Her eyes swept over him quickly, no doubt making the same sort of initial assessment as he was.

“Ms. Royalton, I presume,” he greeted her, holding out his hand. When she shook it, hers was warm, which Athos took as a good sign. “I’m Olivier Athos. Please, come in.”

“Thank you,” she gave him a small smile and entered the apartment, her sharp gaze immediately taking everything in. “This is a lovely apartment. I understand you own the building?”

It wasn’t the most subtle of clues that she’d done her research on him, but that actually helped Athos relax a little. He was perfectly capable of the verbal sparring that was common in both board and interrogation rooms, but he had a distinct appreciation for people who were straightforward.

“I inherited it, yes,” Athos replied. “Would you like a tour?”

“In a moment, but perhaps we could chat first?” The social worker suggested.

Chatting was not exactly Athos’ strong suit, but he ushered her towards the living room area anyway. “Can I offer you some coffee?”

“Yes, please, that would be wonderful,” Ms. Royalton settled in one of the chairs and started opening her shoulder bag. “Just black.”

Athos covertly watched the woman as he poured mugs for both of them. He was mildly amused to realize she was doing the same, as well as studying the room around her. Athos was heartily grateful for his friends’ help. His living space had hardly been a pig sty before, but now it fairly gleamed.

Having puttered with the coffee as much as he could, Athos brought both mugs over and sat on the corner seat of the couch as close to the social worker as possible.

“Thank you,” she accepted the mug and took a sip before continuing. “First, I want to apologize to you for Friday. I realized later that I may have come across as implying that I didn’t want you to seek custody of your brother or that you weren’t a good candidate. Actually, nothing could be further from the truth. Charles is a very special boy and I was thrilled with the idea that there might be a family connection for him that could result in a permanent home.”

“That’s good to know,” Athos commented after a moment of careful consideration. “And I do appreciate your caution. In fact, I should thank you. Gene Treville told me of my ex-wife’s attempt to gain custody of Charles.”

The social worker looked relieved that he’d brought the subject up. “You’re welcome, of course. About that incident, however – do you think Anne Winter poses any continued threat to Charles? Especially should he live with you?”

The answer was, of course, yes, but Athos wasn’t about to admit that to this woman. He was too worried she’d hear the word ‘yes’ and not listen to the mitigating circumstances.

“My ex-wife is a con artist and I think it safe to assume that her attempt to gain control over my brother had to do with his familial connection to a sizeable fortune. That would be the same reason that she married me in the first place,” Athos explained, trying not to let too much bitterness color his voice over that last bit. “Trying to get custody of a boy no one knows about is a far different thing than attempting something while that same child is in the watchful custodianship of a family that is aware of her machinations and prepared to deal with them.” He shook his head. “No, Charles was an easy target before, relatively speaking, something that is no longer the case.” He allowed himself a small smile. “I imagine that she was quite frustrated when your diligence put a wrench in her plans.”

Ms. Royalton blushed. “Thank you, but could you clarify a point for me? You said ‘family,’ but I thought that wasn’t the case, with the losses you’ve suffered.”

“It’s true that Charles and I have a lack of blood relations in common,” Athos admitted. “I was referring to chosen family. Two of my business partners are former Army Special Forces teammates and after that experience, we truly are brothers.” His smile became more genuine. “As for Mrs. Bonacieux, she is now my sister – whether I want her to be or not.”

The social workers polite smile became a grin. “And do you want her to be?”

“Of course, although I try not to let her know that. She’s fusses at me enough as it is,” Athos confided, relaxing a little bit more at the woman’s seeming acceptance of his unconventional family. “And I assure you, that the word ‘Security’ in the title of company is more than just a marketing ploy. I can think of no one better to protect Charles, should the need arise – which I don’t think it will. Still, better safe than sorry.”

Ms. Royalton set her coffee mug down on the side table and leaned forward. “That was another thing I wanted to talk to you about. Your job as a private investigator and security provider is a cause for concern too.”

Athos’ tension immediately returned. “Would you say the same of a police officer?”

She didn’t flinch from his implied criticism. “Most police officers don’t live right above the precinct station.”

Not for the first time since becoming a private detective, Athos mentally damned the public’s perception of what his job really entailed. “I take it you’ve run police reports on this address – and found nothing?”

“Well, yes,” the social worker admitted, but looked far from convinced. “The police have never reported an incident here, but still. . . .”

Even with his control, it was hard not to talk down to her. “I’m afraid being an investigator isn’t nearly as glamorous or as dangerous as it’s made out to be on movies and television. Most of our investigative work involves research and surveillance at a distance; altercations are few and far between and have never followed any of us back to the office. As for the security part of our work, that’s mostly kitting out residences and business with security measures. We do the occasional personal protection detail, but again, it’s away from the office. 

Ms. Royalton looked torn. “That does make me feel better, but there’s just something about Charles being so physically close to it all that still has me a little concerned.”

“Perhaps we need to take that tour now,” Athos suggested, getting up from his seat and pleased to see her follow suit. “I think it will go a long way towards assuaging your concerns.”

“All right,” she agreed before bending down to grab a pad of paper. “I hope you won’t be offended if I take notes. There are certain things I have to look for.”

“I understand and please feel free to look into any nook or cranny that you want,” Athos first moved to the table, where his laptop had gone into sleep mode. He jiggled the keys until the screen woke up and then made a few strokes on the keyboard before turning it around to show her. The screen was split into six sections, each showing an image from a security camera. One was focused on the parking area in the back, another at the foot of the stairs leading to the apartment, one was trained on the door and the others were directed to the windows.

“As you can see, I use the same equipment that we install for clients,” Athos explained. “I’m sure you saw the keypad on the outside of the door that requires a code. There are also sensors on the window that will alert the police should the window break and a panic button is located under the breakfast bar.”

The social worker’s face registered first surprise and then concern. “That’s a lot of security measures to have in place for someone who is proud of the fact that trouble has never followed him home.”

Athos shrugged. “It isn’t so much that I expect trouble as I want to be able to personally vouch for the products we install for our clients. Most of this equipment was free, anyway, samples from companies wanting our business. I’ll admit, though, that as soon as I was told that Anne not only knew about Charles before I did, but tried to get custody of him, I was glad that the security measures were already in place.”

To Athos’ profound relief, his explanation seemed to resonate with the woman. Her expression cleared and her shoulders, which had been tense, relaxed. “Would you mind if I looked around the rest of the kitchen?”

“Be my guest,” Athos made an encompassing gesture. “Look at whatever you’d like.”

The social worker took him at his word and looked through every cabinet, as well as the refrigerator. The picture of Charles made her smile She made a few notations, but her face gave nothing away. When she was done, though, she approached Athos with a more relaxed attitude.

“I was glad to see no energy drinks, those are really popular with kids Charles’ age and they can be a problem,” she told him. “All that sugar and caffeine is bad enough for an adult, but it’s even harder for a child’s body to handle.”

“Good to know.” Athos had seen Aramis drinking those, usually after he’d been out the night before with one of his lady friends. “I’m afraid I’ve a lot to learn about that kind of thing.”

“Something tells me you’re a quick learner,” Ms. Royalton told him, but continued before he could decide if that was a compliment or not. “Can I see Charles’ bedroom next?”

“Certainly, this way.” Athos walked down the hallway and decided to warn her before they got to the room. “It’s a little bare at the moment, but I thought it might be better for Charles to have the opportunity to fix it up whatever way he wants.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Ms. Royalton commented. She didn’t write anything down on her notepad, but Athos got the impression he’d scored some points anyway. “Oh, this is a great space.”

She seemed undismayed that the room was empty, except for the bed, desk and built-in bookshelves, but her eyes widened as she got a look at the lock on the door. “What’s this, a deadlock – on the inside?”

Her tone made it clear that Athos needed to explain quickly and that it had better be good.

“One of those chosen brothers I told you about grew up in the foster care system,” Athos was very matter of fact, refusing to be defensive. “He hated it so much that he ran away at the age of 13 and lived on the street for three years. So when Porthos told me that what he’d wanted most when he was a foster child was a lock on his door, well, I listened. I hope, should Charles come to live with me, that he becomes comfortable here as quickly as possible. Until then, though, I want him to feel safe.”

Ms. Royalton’s expression softened as Athos spoke and she was nodding by the time he was finished. “That’s very thoughtful and it sounds as though you have a good support system.”

“The best.” There was absolutely no question in Athos’ mind about that. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him.“Can you tell me, what is Charles’ like?”

She sighed, but didn’t seem surprised by the question. “He’s a quiet boy. At least, he is around me and from the reports I get from the foster homes and schools, that seems pretty consistent. I wish I could tell you what his likes and dislikes are, but he’s been slow to open up to me.”

“What sports does he like? Or does he prefer to read? Video games?” Athos persisted. His brother was an utter mystery to him and that was frustrating.

“Unfortunately, foster children don’t often get a chance to play sports,” Ms. Royalton told him. “They move around too much, so I couldn’t really tell you if Charles prefers one sport over another. As for reading, I’m afraid not. Charles does well in school with math and science, but seems to struggle with reading.” She looked at the bookshelves. “Maybe that’s something you’ll be able to help him with.”

“Maybe.” While Athos loved to read himself, he wasn’t sure he was capable of inspiring someone else. It made him sad, though, to find out that Charles’ social worker didn’t even know the boy’s likes and dislikes. Had his brother had a chance to be a child?

The social worker took a quick peek into the closet and bathroom, making a few more notations before finishing. “Everything looks really, really good. This room more than meets the minimum requirements and everything’s in tip top shape. There’s just one more thing I need to see. I understand that you have a gun permit? I need to see how you secure the weapon.”

“I expected nothing less,” Athos answered honestly. “Come with me.”

He led her into his bedroom, thoroughly thankful he’d taken pains to clean it up. He nonchalantly took her to his closet, although he had far less experience in having a strange woman in his bedroom than Aramis did. Ms. Royalton was all business as Athos showed her the gun safe.

“This particular model has a biometric lock, which means that it will only open with my fingerprint,” Athos explained and then showed her how it worked. His gun was currently stored in it. “And, as you can see, while not at work, this is where my gun resides.”

“Excellent,” Ms. Royalton made another note. “Can we go back to the living room now,? We’ve more things to discuss.”

“Of course,” Athos motioned for her to lead the way, hoping that this was a good sign. 

The two took their original seats and the social worker got right to the point. “I’m very pleased by everything I’ve seen here today. You haven’t known that Charles existed for very long at all and it’s clear that you’re already dedicated to bringing him into your life. I don’t have any suggestions to make on your living space at all and that rarely happens.”

“I just wish I could have known about him earlier,” Athos stated quietly. “I have a very different idea of family than my father did.”

“I’ll be blunt; today’s visit was mostly unnecessary. Not only are family members almost always preferred for the placement of children who’ve lost their parents, but you were thoroughly vetted before you were ever approached,” Ms. Royalton admitted. 

“More so than the boy’s uncle, I hope?” Athos couldn’t help the dig. Given all the effort he and, especially, his friends had gone through for this inspection, it was frustrating to learn that it hadn’t been needed. For a moment, his frustration almost eclipsed the fact that she’d implied that he would be granted custody of his brother.

The social worker flushed. “Between you and me, I’m not sure what my predecessor was thinking of, allowing Charles to be placed with James Castelmore. I don’t think I would have made the same decision.” She took a deep breath. “But the mistake was made and Charles paid the price. I’m determined that it not happen again.”

Athos nodded. “I appreciate that, but did I understand you correctly? Is there a good chance that I’ll be named Charles’ guardian?”

“It’ll be up to the family judge assigned to the case, of course, but I think it likely yes,” she told him with a smile. “Assistant District Attorney Treville speaks very highly of you, as does your former Army commander and several personnel we talked to from the NYPD. We’ve even received messages of support from prominent businessmen Gerald DeFoix and Armand Richelieu.” The look she gave him was one of respect. “I’m not sure how you managed that, since those two are well known rivals.”

DeFoix and Richelieu weren’t really surprises, but Athos was impressed that their former commander had contacted Child Protective Services on his behalf, as well as some of the police officers they’d worked with in the past. Aramis and Porthos had been busy.

“But I do have a couple of logistical things I want to go over with you,” Ms. Royalton continued. “You don’t have an office job and I imagine that some unusual hours are involved. Who will take care of Charles after school or if you get called away at night or on the weekend?”

“My colleague’s husband works out of their home,” Athos told her. “Jack Bonacieux has already offered to be a resource as needed, as has Gerald DeFoix.”

“Good, good,” she made another note on her pad. “Now, Charles is currently attending school in the St. George neighborhood.”

Athos winced. St. George wasn’t a bad part of the city, but was it was a significant distance from where he lived. “It’s not ideal, but I can make that work. The good thing about owning your own business is flexibility in work hours.”

Ms. Royalton hesitated. “I’m confident that you’ll be awarded custody of Charles, at least on a trial basis, but not right away. As of this moment, Charles doesn’t know you exist. I think it would be a good idea to introduce the idea to him and then have the two of you meet. If that goes well, we can start with weekly visits and work our way up to full day visits on the weekend. After that, we can try Charles living with you on the weekend and at the foster home during the week. That way the two of you can acclimate to one another slowly and Charles won’t be moved from his school so close to the end of the year.”

Athos didn’t like it, but had to admit that it made sense. “And when will you be telling Charles that he has a brother?”

“Tomorrow,” Ms. Royalton answered promptly. “We’re doing a routine unannounced inspection of his foster home and I’ll break the news to him then.”

“Will you let me know how it goes?” Athos couldn’t help the wistful tone in his voice.

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Ms. Royalton,” Athos told her. “For all you’ve done for me and for my brother.”

She smiled as she started gathering her things together. “We’re going to be working together from now on for your brother’s welfare. Please, call me Ann.”

“In that case, please call me Athos.” At her surprised look, he shrugged. “Years of boarding school and serving in the military have accustomed me to using just my last name. Besides, Olivier wasn’t exactly the easiest name to grow up with.”

Not to mention that his ex-wife had liked to call him Olivier. It did not endear the name to him.

“I’ll walk you down,” Athos offered when it was obvious that Ann was ready to go. “Would you like to see the office?”

“Yes, please, if you don’t mind.”

Athos pocketed his phone after texting his friends the code they’d developed for being on the way. He hoped they’d assumed that there was the possibility that the social worker would want to see the office, since it was below where Charles was going to live. Given Ann Royalton’s initial reluctance on that point, he wanted to make sure his colleagues made a good impression.

To give his friends more time to prepare, if needed, he explained more about the building as they slowly went down the stairs.

“This was originally a bank,” Athos said. “It was built in the early 1930s, before the Depression, and was engineered ahead of its time. You probably noticed how quiet the apartment was?”

Ann nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“The walls are reinforced,” Athos said, “as are the floors and we kept as much of the original trimmings as possible when it was renovated. In addition to the sound dampening, the extra thickness of the structure makes it cheaper to heat and cool.”

Athos’ didn’t care much about the HVAC costs, but he had chosen the building from his family’s portfolio of holdings partially because of the way it was built. Not only did he appreciate the aesthetics of it, but the reinforced walls were an added security measure. Ann Royalton was a sharp woman and might deduce that for herself, but Athos certainly wasn’t going to point it out to her. She was concerned enough for Charles’ safety the way it was.

“And here we are.” They’d reached the back door of the office and Athos keyed in the appropriate code. He desperately wanted to enter first, but it would be rude, so he ushered the social worker inside ahead of him.

Athos needn’t have worried. 

Three heads were bent over their desks, each giving every appearance of working industrially. They looked up as Athos and the social worker entered, looking suitably surprised. Even Athos wasn’t entirely sure if it was an act or not.

“Lady and gentlemen,” Athos said. “I’d like to introduce Ann Royalton, Charles’ social worker.”

His three colleagues got up and approached, all with polite expressions on their faces. Athos took particular note of Aramis, but there was no hint of the flirtatiousness that could appear when he was in the presence of an attractive woman.

“The lady is Constance Bonacieux,” Athos introduced his female colleague first. “Her husband is the one who’s offered to watch Charles as necessary.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Constance shook the social worker’s hand and smiled.

“It’s very kind of you and your husband to help Athos with Charles,” Ann said. “I’m sure that’s going to be a tremendous help.”

“Happy to do it,” Constance said, and if she thought it odd that the social worker addressed Athos as one of them would, none of that showed on her face. “I have brothers and I work with these three, so I’ve my fair share of experience with boys. Besides, I think Jack gets a little lonely working out of the house by himself, he’ll appreciate the company.”

It seemed odd to hear Constance refer to her husband by his given name rather than the nickname, Bonnie, but Athos appreciated that she was being more proper because of Ann’s status as Charles’ social worker.

“And these two are the chosen brothers I told you about,” Athos said next. “Rene Aramis and Porthos Vallon.”

“Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,” Ann shook each man’s hand in turn and Athos was pleased to see that Aramis didn’t try to hold on to the woman any longer than was polite. “Mr. Vallon, Athos tells me that the lock on Charles’ door was your suggestion – I think it’s a great idea.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Porthos seemed taken aback by her praise. “Just somethin’ I wished I’d had when I was his age.”

“I’m sorry you felt that need, but at least Charles can benefit from your experience,” Ann said. She frowned when she saw the clock on the wall. “I’m sorry, but I need to get going. It truly was a pleasure to meet all of you. Athos, I’ll call you on Wednesday with an update.”

“I would appreciate that, Ann,” Athos said gratefully. “Thank you again for everything.”

Ann shook his hand briefly. “No, thank you. Not everyone would be willing to consider taking in a young relative this way. I look forward to working with you through this process.”

With a last smile at the group of them, Ann Royalton walked out the front door of the office. The four friends stood there and watched her go, not moving a muscle as she walked to her car and got in. They knew that the tinted windows would keep the social worker from seeing their reaction, but the tableau held until her car pulled away. Once that happened, the other three turned to look at Athos expectantly.

“That sounded positive,” Aramis said.

Athos nodded. “She says it’s likely that I’ll be granted custody of Charles, at least temporarily, while I’m assessed as a permanent guardian.”

“That’s good news, yeah?” Porthos asked, unusually hesitant for the normally blunt man. 

Athos stopped looking out the window and slid his gaze over to his friend. “Of course.”

His three friends exchanged concerned glances.

“You’re not exactly jumping for joy,” Porthos pointed out.

Athos huffed out a sound that was part laugh and part sob. “I’m too busy being scared shitless.” The look in his eyes would not have been out of place on a deer caught in headlights. “What do I know about raising an orphaned boy?”

Aramis stepped forward and wrapped his hand around Athos neck, pulling the older man’s head close so that they were touching foreheads. “You idiot. What you should have asked is ‘What do WE know about raising an orphaned boy?’ Charles is our brother now too; you’re not doing this alone. We’ll figure it out.”

When Aramis let go, Porthos stepped up. He cuffed Athos lightly on the side of the head before gripping his shoulders tightly, forcing the older man to look at him. “You trust us? Aramis, Constance and me?”

There was only one answer to that. “Yes. Without question.”

Porthos nodded. “You’re a good man. I know you don’t always believe that, especially when anything about family comes up, but the three of us? We know it for a fact. You’re just gonna have to believe us until you can believe it yourself.”

“That might take some time,” Athos warned him.

His comment brought out the infamous Porthos grin. “You mean more time, because it’s already been ‘some’ time, but that’s okay. You know me, patience is my middle name.”

Unfortunately, ‘patience’ wasn’t any part of Constance’s name. “Move, you big lout, it’s my turn.” Porthos let go and Constance stepped forward. Unlike the men, she didn’t say anything, just did her level best to hug the stuffing from him. He hugged her rather stiffly back and once he did, she let him go.

“You better start talking,” Porthos growled. “We need a little more detail.”

Athos took a deep breath. “She’s going to tell Charles about me tomorrow and if it goes well, I’ll get to meet him shortly. The visits will continue and gradually get longer, with the hope that if the family court judge agrees, that he can come live with me at the end of the school year.”

“Permanently?” Constance asked, her tone colored with hope.

“The situation would be considered on a trial basis at first,” Athos said. His lips twitched in an attempt at a smile. “She was very impressed with the preparations.”

“We’ve always been an excellent team,” Aramis said with relish. “First with soldiering, then with investigating and now we’ll excel at parenting.”

“So good to see you’ve overcome that self-confidence issue you had, Aramis.” Constance said dryly, but there was no heat in the comment.

Porthos laughed. “When he’s right, he’s right. Charles is going to be as smart as Athos, as spunky as Constance, as suave as Aramis and as brave as me.”

The comments washed over Athos, the support calming his sudden attack of nerves. Yes, he’d failed one brother and, while he was determined to succeed with this second chance, he was terrified he’d fail with the second one too. Athos should have known that his brothers – and, yes, his sister too – wouldn’t let that happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to post, the chapter turned out longer than I expected. The next chapter will check in on how D'ar is doing and then I'm still on track for the brothers meeting in Chapter 6. Thank you for reading the story, I appreciate it.


	5. Chapter 5

The spring weather had turned again and a cold rain caused D’ar to run all the way from the bus stop to the Duras’ house. The bus ride home was never fun, but today’s had been even worse than normal. The bus had broken down and they’d waited by the side of the road for almost an hour until a replacement bus had come to fetch them. Many of the kids had phones and other gadgets to keep them busy, but not D’ar. He’d kept his head down and hoped that none of the other kids thought to use him as entertainment. Luckily, the school bus driver, Mr. Tonra, was pretty strict. There were a few jokes made at D’ar’s expense, but it could have been worse.

He arrived at the house out of breath. Mrs. Duras kept the door locked at all times, so D’ar had to knock and wait for her to let him in. Thankfully, there was an overhang, so he wasn’t utterly soaked by the time she came to the door. 

“You’re late,” she greeted him, the usual suspicion in her eyes.

“Sorry, the bus broke down,” D’ar explained. 

No doubt Mrs. Duras didn’t believe him at first, but since she could see other kids in the neighborhood also just arriving, she didn’t accuse him of anything.

“Well, don’t track water all over the floor,” Mrs. Duras said as D’ar slipped by her to get inside. “Put your shoes on the rug to dry and use this towel to wipe off your coat before you hang it on the hook.”

D’ar sighed, but did as he was told. His sneakers were held together with duct tape, so hadn’t done a great job of keeping his feet dry, but since his socks were just damp, he left them on. After D’ar dried the coat and hung it up, he used the towel to wipe down his hair, not wanting to get in trouble for dripping. 

Mrs. Duras was waiting for him. “After you put the towel in with the dirty clothes, you can work on your school assignments. The girls have already started theirs.”

It was a Tuesday afternoon, so until Friday came around again, homework took precedence over any chores. It was a mixed blessing. There was a corner in the living room with a table set up for the kids to do their school work. Generally speaking, they weren’t allowed to take it up to their rooms because Mrs. Duras liked to supervise them more closely than that would allow. Unfortunately, Mr. Duras was also stationed in the living room, watching television. Usually it was something like Judge Judy or Fox News. Boring, grown-up stuff. D’ar wasn’t sure why Mr. Duras even had it on, since every time he looked at his foster father, Mr. Duras was watching him.

Because of the bus incident, the girls had gotten home before him and were already at the table. Camille had taken the seat that meant her back was to Mr. Duras. Marlene, oblivious to the man, sat at the shorter side of the table. Being so young, her homework was mostly just coloring pictures. The other short side was pressed up against the wall, which meant that D’ar had no other choice but sit in the seat that meant he was facing Mr. Duras. He took it slowly, not happy about it. Camille just shrugged in apology. Even though Mr. Duras seemed to watch D’ar more than the girls, she didn’t like him looking at her either. Even so, she didn’t feel bad enough for D’ar to offer to switch seats with him and he couldn’t blame her for that. Most afternoons, he was home first and so had his choice of seats more often than not.

At least his homework was math instead of social studies. D’ar took his book out of bag, sighing when he saw a few drops of water on it. The hated backpack was vinyl and that part was waterproof, but it was cheap and tended to leak around the zippers. Luckily, he only had his math book with him and it didn’t seem to be damaged. After wiping it off with his sleeve and retrieving the slightly damp folder with the sheets he had to complete, D’ar opened the textbook to the proper page. He felt a prickling sensation and his eyes darted over to Mr. Duras. Sure enough, the man was staring at him, unblinking. Shuddering, D’ar bent his head over his book, shifting his chair until Camille’s body blocked him from his foster father’s view. At least Emily was nowhere to be seen, although D’ar didn’t know if that meant she wasn’t in the house or if she was just in the basement, where an apartment of sorts had been set up for her. As long as she wasn’t near him, though, it didn’t really matter.

The math equations were interesting enough to help him to ignore the sensation of being watched. D’ar wasn’t sure how much time had gone by, but he was nearly through with his math when the front doorbell rang. All three children looked up, startled. The Duras household didn’t get many visitors and since all three of them were home from school, it wasn’t one of them ringing to be let in. Besides, they were only allowed to use the back door. The front door was for company and things like getting packages delivered.

None of them got up to answer, having been firmly instructed never to do so unless specifically told to. Mrs. Duras came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel and frowning. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting anyone and was just as surprised as her foster children had been at the sound.

Seeing the kids staring at her, Mrs. Duras scowled at them. “Back to work, children.”

All three kids immediately bent over their papers again and got busy or at least pretended to. All of them, even little Marlene, were watching Mrs. Duras through lowered lashes. They saw their foster mother approach the door and look through the sidelight. D’ar could have sworn that the woman paled a little bit. Even so, after giving her husband a tense look over her shoulder, she opened the door.

“Pamela, Mrs. Royalton, I wasn’t expecting you,” Mrs. Duras slung the dishtowel over her shoulder and the way her hands twisted together revealed her nervousness. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

D’ar startled at hearing the name of his social worker. Eyes wide, he exchanged a startled glance with Camille. She shrugged, but her eyes had the same question marks in them. Could the ‘Pamela’ that Mrs. Duras greeted be the girls’ social worker? They weren’t sisters, but they did have the same CPS rep assigned to them.

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, Josette, but as you know, to remained licensed as a foster parent, there do need to be periodic unannounced inspections of the home environment,” an unfamiliar voice was telling Mrs. Duras. Unfamiliar to D’ar, that was. Camille and Marlene both lit up when they heard it. “It’s come to our attention that you haven’t had one in quite some time, so Ms. Royalton and I are here to rectify that.”

“But I’ve been a foster parent for years,” Mrs. Duras protested. D’ar had never seen her look so flustered. “This has never been an issue before.”

“You’ve been a very valued foster parent and we appreciate your years of service,” the woman, who must be Camille and Marlene’s social worker, said in a placating tone. “I expect this to be nothing more than a formality. There’s never even been a hint of complaint of how you care for the children we place with you.”

D’ar looked at Camille and rolled his eyes, making both her and Marlene giggle.

“None of that, now,” Mr. Duras spoke, his voice thick. “Behave.”

The three children immediately quieted. Mr. Duras didn’t speak to them often and it was almost as creepy when he did as when he watched them.

“Mrs. Duras, I don’t understand,” Ms. Royalton’s voice didn’t sound as apologetic as the other woman’s had. “Unannounced inspections are something you agreed to when you became a foster parent. They’re standard operating procedure – or at least they should be. Is there something you don’t want us to see?”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Duras stepped back. “Please come in.”

Luckily for the social workers, the rain apparently had stopped, because they weren’t soaked despite being kept out on the step while convincing Mrs. Duras to let them in. The other social worker stepped into the house first and as soon as Marlene saw her, she jumped up and ran to her.

“Mrs. Carlson!” The little girl wrapped arms around the woman’s hips in an enthusiastic hug. Mrs. Duras’ lips thinned. Normally she would have chastised Marlene for unladylike behavior, but with the presence of visitors, let the action go without comment. “You came to visit us!”

“Yes, I did,” Mrs. Carlson was about the same age of Mrs. Duras, but had a far more pleasant expression on her face. She put a hand on the little girl’s shoulder and looked around the room. “Hello, Robert. Camille.”

“Pamela,” Mr. Duras gestured at his legs. “Forgive me if I don’t get up to greet you properly.”

“No, that’s quite all right,” Mrs. Carlson said. “How have you been feeling?”

Mr. Duras smiled for the first time that D’ar had seen since moving into the Duras household. It was downright scary. “I endure. Josette’s my rock and, of course, having the children is a blessing.”

It was, by far, the most words that D’ar had ever heard the man say at one time. He was more used to Mr. Duras grunting answers when his wife asked him something.

“Hello, Charles,” Mrs. Royalton smiled at him as she approached the table where the older two children still sat. “And you must be Camille, hello.”

“Hi,” D’ar smiled shyly, as did Camille. He liked Mrs. Royalton more than his first social worker, an older woman who always seemed very busy, but wasn’t totally sure what to make of her yet either. 

“When we’re done with the inspection, Charles, I want to talk to you,” she said. D’ar immediately worried that he’d done something wrong. It must have shown on his face, because Mrs. Royalton was quick to reassure him. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. There’s just something I want to tell you. I think it’ll be a good thing.”

“Okay.” D’ar looked down at his worksheet, still worried.

“Charles, have you been sick lately?” Mrs. Royalton came around the table and put a hand on his forehead. “You look tired.”

D’ar couldn’t remember the last time someone had checked him for a fever like that. It almost felt strange.

“Charles?”

When Mrs. Royalton repeated his name, D’ar belatedly realized that he hadn’t answered her question. He also realized that Mrs. Duras was watching them. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Mrs. Royalton dropped her hand from D’ar’s forehead, but didn’t look convinced. “All right, if you’re sure.”

“Ann,” the other social worker called to Mrs. Royalton. “Obviously everything is more than acceptable in here.” She turned to address Mrs. Duras. “As usual, Josette, the way you manage to keep an impeccable house while raising three children is amazing.”

It was clear to D’ar that Mrs. Carlson had known Mr. and Mrs. Duras for a long time, since she was on a first name basis with them. She was also talking down to Mrs. Royalton, who was probably young enough to be Mrs. Carlson’s daughter. D’ar knew what it was like to be young and dismissed, he knew that feeling all too well.

“I’ll just take a few photos in here while you chat,” Mrs. Royalton said to her colleague as she dug a camera out of her large bag, “and then I’ll continue in the kitchen.”

“Pictures?” Mrs. Duras asked.

Mrs. Royalton smiled her. “Just for documentation purposes.”

Mrs. Duras clearly wasn’t happy about the new aspect of the inspection, but the social worker ignored that and snapped some shots in the living room. Mrs. Carlson continued to talk to both of the foster parents, but Mrs. Duras’ eyes followed Mrs. Royalton until the social left the room to go into the kitchen. If anything, his foster mother seemed even more distracted once Mrs. Royalton was out of sight.

But Mrs. Royalton wasn’t out of sight long.

The young social worker came back into the living room almost immediately. Even though only a few moments had passed, a big change had happened to her face. She was pale, with a spot of pink high on each cheek. D’ar thought at first she was sick, but then she started to talk and he realized that she was angry. Really, really angry.

“Mrs. Duras, Mr. Duras” Mrs. Royalton’s eyes flashed as she stalked across the room and brazenly interrupted Mrs. Carlson’s conversation with the foster parents. “Would you please explain why there is a padlock on your refrigerator?”

Mrs. Carlson’s jaw dropped. “A what?”

“A padlock,” Mrs. Royalton answered her colleague’s question, although her eyes never left Mrs. Duras. “With a chain.”

“Food is very expensive and I can’t have the children pilfering treats outside of mealtime,” Mrs. Duras back was stiff as she answered.

“I have to see this,” Mrs. Carlson shouldered passed Mrs. Duras as she walked rapidly into the kitchen, with the other two women following in her wake. Mr. Duras, of course, stay seated. “Marlene, it would be best if you want back to your coloring.”

Marlene rejoined the other children at the homework table, but all three of them gave up any pretense of getting any work done. With their foster father still in the room, the children didn’t dare say anything, but they exchanged glances. They could hear voices coming from the kitchen, but couldn’t quite hear what was being said – until the three women came back.

“Josette, you have to understand how unconventional that is,” Mrs. Carlson was saying as they returned to the living room.

“Unconventional?” Mrs. Royalton retorted. “The word I would use is unacceptable.”

Mrs. Carlson quelled her younger co-worker with a glare and a quick glance towards the children. “We can discuss that in detail later. For now, kids, why don’t you show us your rooms?”

“I can take you upstairs,” Mrs. Duras offered. She stepped towards the stairs, but stopped when Mrs. Carlson shook her head.

“That won’t be necessary, Josette,” Mrs. Carlson said. “I haven’t visited here in years, but I remember the set-up. Besides, I’m sure the children will have fun playing tour guide.”

Mrs. Carlson gestured at them to follow through with her suggestion and D’ar didn’t like the way his foster parents glared at them as he and the girls got up to comply. Marlene didn’t share his hesitation, nearly skipping ahead of the group in her eagerness to show Mrs. Carlson the room she shared with her foster sister. As for Camille, like D’ar, she was a little nervous and followed more slowly. Mrs. Royalton waited for D’ar and put a hand on his back, as though she sensed his nervousness.

Ahead of them, the girls took Mrs. Carlson to their room and he could hear Marlene happily introducing the other social worker to her doll. D’ar moved slowly to his room, not sure why he was so reluctant. The bedroom was neat; Mrs. Duras would allow nothing else.

“This is my room,” D’ar said as he walked into it, flipping the light switch on as he came in. He immediately moved to the side so that Mrs. Royalton could come in too.

Mrs. Royalton looked around at the twin beds with their faded plaid bed spreads and actually smiled. “This is a nice-sized room.”

She turned around and D’ar could tell the exact moment she realized that there was no door, because her smile faded quickly. “What happened to the door?”

“I don’t know.” D’ar shrugged. “It was gone when I moved in.”

Mrs. Royalton put a hand on his shoulder. “Were you ever told why?”

D’ar scuffed his foot against the floor and wouldn’t look at her. “Mrs. Duras said that boys can’t be trusted with too much privacy. That we do nasty things when we’re left alone.”

Fingers gently cupped D’ar’s chin and lifted his face so that he had to meet Mrs. Royalton’s eyes. “That’s not true, Charles. You’re not automatically nasty or bad just because you’re a boy. Okay?”

He wasn’t sure he believed her, but D’ar agreed anyway. “Okay,” he whispered.

“In fact,” Mrs. Royalton dropped her hand from his chin and leaned forward so he could hear when she spoke softly. “You’re one of my favorite kids to work with, but shhh, don’t tell my co-worker, because we’re not supposed to have favorites.”

“Everything is shipshape in the girls’ room, Ann, how is it in here?”

Mrs. Royalton didn’t turn to look at her colleague, instead keeping her gaze on D’ar. “Do you notice anything missing, Pamela?”

There was a moment of silence and then a suitably shocked question. “Where’s the door?”

“Boys don’t get doors,” Marlene’s piping voice supplied the answer.

“Apparently boys can’t be trusted with basic privacy needs,” Mrs. Royalton’s voice had an odd quality to it and D’ar realized that she was angry again – or maybe she was still angry from before. Her hand remained on his shoulder, though, and the touch was gentle, so he was pretty sure she wasn’t angry with him.

“We have a door,” Camille said. “But there’s no lock and there’s no lock on the bathroom door either. If you’re in there too long when you shower and use too much hot water, Mrs. Duras comes in and changes it to cold.”

D’ar’s eyes widened. He’d never had that happen, but then he’d been sure to take very quick showers after the first time he’d lingered too long.

“Does Mrs. Duras come in when you shower too, Charles?” Mrs. Royalton asked gently. 

“Just the once,” D’ar told her. “I made sure I was always super quick after that.”

Mrs. Royalton kept her hand on D’ar’s shoulder, but moved around so she was standing behind him. “No door on a bedroom and coming in to the bathroom while children who are old enough not to need help are showering. Tell me, Pamela, are those things considered unconventional, but not quite infractions too?”

There was bitterness in the social worker’s voice. Now that Mrs. Royalton wasn’t in front of him, D’ar could see Mrs. Carlson better. She didn’t look nearly as confident as she had when she’d walked into the house. 

“Clearly we have a lot to discuss with Josette and Robert,” Mrs. Carlson said. “Let’s go back downstairs. Maybe the children would enjoy an after school snack while the adults talk.”

“If we can get the key for the fridge from Mrs. Duras,” Mrs. Royalton said sweetly. D’ar took a quick look back at her face; the expression there did not match her tone of voice.

Mrs. Carlson’s lips thinned, but she didn’t answer. Silently, the group left D’ar’s bedroom. The kids trooped down the stairs, but the women stopped at the bathroom for a moment, no doubt to verify that there was no lock. 

“What did they say?” Mrs. Duras hissed a question at the children when they reached the bottom. When none of them answered, she grabbed D’ar’s arm, as he happened to be the closest. “What did you tell them?”

“He told us that he didn’t know what happened to the door on his bedroom,” Mrs. Royalton had come quietly down the stairs and answered the question so that D’ar didn’t have to. “Perhaps you can fill us in on that.”

Mrs. Carlson interceded before either Duras could answer. “I think it would be prudent for the children to move to the kitchen. They can have a snack while they finish their homework.”

No one had a chance to comment on her suggestion. Instead, the door to the basement flew open and out popped Emily Duras. She had a crazed look in her eye and was wielding a mop as though it were a sword.

“Get thee back, demons!” She shouted, her eyes fixated on the social workers. “You cannot enter this holy place.”

Marlene shrieked in fear, but unfortunately Emily was between the kids and the social workers, so there was no protection to be had from the adults. Camille immediately shoved Marlene behind her and D’ar stepped in front of both girls. 

“Kitchen,” he said softly. “Move slow.”

Mrs. Duras rushed to her daughter’s side. “Now, Emily, you know Pamela Carlson. I’ve worked with her for years. She’s no demon and neither is Mrs. Royalton. They’re with Child Protective Services.”

Emily shook her head wildly. “No, I see their cloven hooves, Mother, though they try to hide them.” She poked the mop at the two women, who were pale, but holding their ground. 

D’ar saw Mrs. Royalton fumbling for something in her bag with one hand. With the other she made a shooing motion and D’ar followed through on his plan to retreat to the kitchen with his foster sisters. Luckily, Emily was fixated on the newcomers, because she didn’t notice when the children disappeared into the other room.

Once Emily wasn’t in sight, the Marlene got over her initial fright enough to start to cry. Camille did her best to comfort and shush her; both of the older children were worried that Emily would hear and follow them.

D’ar’s eyes darted around the room. The sharp kitchen utensils were usually locked away, but Mrs. Duras had been starting to fix supper when the social workers showed up and there was a knife on the counter. D’ar briefly picked it up, but as he did, the scene around him changed. Instead of seeing the dingy Duras kitchen, D’ar saw a close-up of a man’s hand holding a knife, blood dripping from it. In the background, instead of Emily’s voice, he heard his father cry out in pain. D’ar dropped the knife, breathing heavily.

“Charles?” Camille’s voice trembled as she called out to him. “What should we do?”

Emily’s ranting could still be heard, but it wasn’t quite as loud. Mrs. Duras could usually calm her daughter, although Emily’d never been this bad before. D’ar considered having them all go outside, but it had started raining again. 

“Let’s put our shoes on and open the back door, just in case,” D’ar instructed. “That way we can run if we need to.”

While the girls complied, he moved a couple of the kitchen chairs in front of the doorway. There was no door to close and the chairs wouldn’t stop Emily if she came after them, but maybe they’d slow her down a little.

D’ar was just starting to put his shoes on when they heard someone approach the kitchen and he dropped them to face whoever was coming. Camille stood with her hand on the screen door and three of them had their eyes riveted on the doorway. Marlene whimpered and hid her face in Camille’s chest.

“Children? It’s Mrs. Royalton, can I come in?” Her face peeked around the corner, although she made no effort to move the flimsy chair barricade.

“Yes, ma’am,” D’ar moved forward with a sigh of relief, but Camille grabbed his arm to stop him.

“She’s not with you, is she?” The girl asked.

“No, Emily has calmed down and is sitting in the living room. Mrs. Carlson and Mrs. Duras won’t let her move from her chair,” Mrs. Royalton promised. “I don’t want to scare you more than you already are, but the police are on their way.” 

Camille sobbed in relief and D’ar stepped forward to move one of the chairs.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Royalton’s smile was a little shaky as she moved the other one. “Why don’t we all sit down?” 

The children complied, with the girls taking the chairs closest to the backdoor, which were also the furthest from the living room. D’ar sat next to Mrs. Royalton, although he made sure the chair was at an angle so that he could keep an eye on the kitchen doorway.

“I want to tell you all how proud Mrs. Carlson and I are of you,” Mrs. Royalton said after she took a deep breath. “That was a scary thing to happen and you were very brave, not to mention very smart, to get out of there.”

Marlene was bending so that she could look under the table. Camille grabbed the back of her shirt and pulled her up, with a hissed, “What are you doing?”

“Checking for hooves,” Marlene said. “She don’t got none.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Camille rolled her eyes. “Emily is crazy.”

“Or on drugs,” D’ar added quietly.

“Clearly Emily is disturbed in some way,” Mrs. Royalton said, visibly choosing her words carefully. “Has she been living here or was she just visiting today?”

Off in the distance, they could hear the wail of a siren.

“It started out with visits,” D’ar told her. “But she’s pretty much been living here for a while.”

“I see,” Mrs. Royalton’s lips pressed together. “And does she act like that all the time?”

“Emily’s scary!” Marlene blurted out. 

Mrs. Royalton leaned forward and patted the little girl’s hand. “Yes, she certainly is, but don’t worry. She won’t be scaring you anymore, I promise.”

D’ar answered the question. “She’s always talking about demons and sometimes she gets kind of loud, but this is the first time she was like that.”

The sirens were really loud and then suddenly cut off. The girls looked scared, but Mrs. Royalton smiled reassuringly at all three of them. “All right, the police are here, but there’s nothing for you to worry about. They’re just going to get Emily some help. They might come in and ask you a couple of questions, would that be okay?”

“Yes,” D’ar answered for all three of them.

“You’re not going to leave us alone, are you?” Camille asked, her eyes full of tears. She’d only met the social worker that afternoon, but clearly felt more comfortable with her around.

Mrs. Royalton smiled at them again. “I’ll be right here for as long as you need me.”

They heard new voices coming from the living room and Emily’s voice became strident again. Mrs. Royalton’s hand dipped into her pocket and when she lifted it out, she was holding a small canister in her hand. 

“What’s that?” D’ar asked. He figured it must have been what she was trying to get out of her bag when Emily first attacked.

Mrs. Royalton didn’t answer at first, but after looking them each in the face, came to a decision. “It’s called pepper spray. If you spray it on someone and it hits them in the face, it’s very, very unpleasant and they become too worried about getting it off to bother you anymore.”

“But the police will stop Emily, right?” Camille asked.

“Yes, they will,” Mrs. Royalton’s answer was very firm. “But I promised I’d take care of you and so I want to be prepared, just in case.” She wasn’t a big woman, the way Mrs. Carlson was, but D’ar didn’t doubt in that moment that even if Emily got past the police, she would not get past Mrs. Royalton.

“So, children, tell me how school is going?” Mrs. Royalton asked. It was an obvious ploy to distract them and it didn’t work. None of the kids answered. Gamely, the social worker tried again. “I spy something with my little eye and the color is green.” 

Marlene took the bait. She loved games. “Is it the floor?” The Duras’ kitchen floor was an ugly green fake tile.

“Sorry, but no. Camille, your turn,” Mrs. Royalton turned to the older girl. 

Camille sighed, but joined in. “Is it the curtains?”

And so it went, until Marlene correctly guessed that the green was the flower print in her dress. They took turns, with the older kids having markedly less enthusiasm than the seven year-old, but playing along to keep her distracted. The volume of the voices in the next room rose and fell, but finally they heard the front door bang. All four of them jumped.

Mrs. Royalton reached in her other pocket and took at her phone. She read a text and smiled. “Mrs. Carlson said that the police have taken Emily out of the house.”

“Is she going to be arrested?” D’ar asked. A mop wasn’t a dangerous weapon, but she’d still threatened Child Protective Services’ workers. That had to be illegal.

“Right now, she’s going to the doctor,” Mrs. Royalton explained. “They’re going to get her the help she needs.”

Even with having been reassured by Mrs. Royalton that Emily had been removed, the three children still flinched when they heard someone approaching the kitchen doorway. It turned out to be Mrs. Carlson and she was accompanied by a young policewoman.

“Is everyone okay?” Mrs. Carlson’s eyes first went to the children.

“I think we’re fine,” Mrs. Royalton assured her. “We have some very brave children here.”

Marlene had kept close to Camille, but once her social worker came into sight, abandoned her for the more formidable woman. She ran to Mrs. Carlson, who picked her up with little effort.

“Emily’s scary.” Marlene told Mrs. Carlson the same thing she had the other social worker.

“Yes, but she’s not here anymore,” Mrs. Carlson smiled at her and then shifted her gaze to include all of the children. “You’re safe from her now.”

“That’s what Mrs. Royalton told us,” D’ar said quietly. He didn’t want the other social worker to think that Mrs. Royalton wasn’t doing her job.

“Hi, kids,” the policewoman said. She wasn’t that much taller than Mrs. Royalton and her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She also had her hat on in the house, which was against Mrs. Duras’ rules, but none of the children corrected her. “My name is Officer Li. Can I ask you some questions?”

The children each looked at their social workers, who nodded in encouragement.

“I guess that would be okay,” D’ar answered for them all.

“Great, mind if I sit down?” She asked. 

He shook his head and Officer Li took the chair at the head of the table. Mrs. Royalton and D’ar were on one side of the table and Mrs. Carlson took the chair by Camille, settling Marlene in her lap.

Officer Li first went through the same questions that Mrs. Royalton had asked, about if Emily lived there and how she’d acted in the past. Once those were covered, she started asking new questions. 

“And what about Mr. and Mrs. Duras, what do they do when Emily is upset?” Officer Li had been taking notes and her pen hovered over her notebook as she waited for one of them to answer.

“Mr. Duras doesn’t do anything but watch,” D’ar said. “He doesn’t ever do anything but watch.”

“And he watches us all the time.” Camille added. 

“Does he?” Officer Li’s tone was noncommittal, but she made another note. “And what about Mrs. Duras?”

“She talks to Emily and sometimes she sends us upstairs,” D’ar said.

“Have you ever been down in the basement?” Officer Li asked.

All three children shook their heads, Marlene so hard that her hair few into Mrs. Carlson’s face.

“No, ma’am,” D’ar answered. “Mrs. Duras told us not to.”

Officer Li smiled at him. “And you obeyed – you weren’t the littlest bit curious?”

“No, ma’am, I wasn’t at all curious,” D’ar told her. “My uncle was on drugs. I know what that looks like and I didn’t want to get anywhere near it.” 

“Besides,” Camille added. “If Mrs. Duras catches you doing something she told you not to, you might not get enough supper or get sent up to bed early.”

Officer Li frowned. “And is that something that happens often, not getting enough supper?”

Mrs. Carlson cleared her throat. “I’m not sure how that’s pertinent.”

The policewoman nodded at the refrigerator, which still had the chain and lock on it. “I’d say that makes it pertinent, ma’am.”

“As long as you brought it up, I believe the children could do with a snack,” Mrs. Royalton said. “Is there any chance you could get the key for us? I’m guessing that Mrs. Duras has it.”

“Yes, she keeps it on her key ring,” Camille confirmed.

“Sure, I was done with my questions anyway.” The officer put her notebook away and smiled at the children. “I’ll either get the key or the bolt cutters out of the back of my cruiser. One way or another, that lock is coming off, I guarantee it.”

“Ann, please stay with the children while I speak with the officer that’s interviewing Mr. and Mrs. Duras.” Mrs. Carlson suggested. D’ar couldn’t help but notice the more formal way she referred to them. He guessed after what had happened, she was no longer willing to be on a first name basis with them.”

“Certainly,” Mrs. Royalton said. She turned back to the kids once her colleague was gone. “While we’re waiting for Officer Li to come back, why don’t you tell me what Mrs. Duras usually gives you for a snack after school – unless you already had one?”

The children exchange glances.

“No afternoon snacks,” Marlene parroted what Mrs. Duras always told them. “We get lunch at school an’ not supposed to ruin our dinner.”

Mrs. Royalton’s smile seemed a little strained. “Well, dinner tonight might be a bit late, so I think a snack is order. Let me just see what I can find in the cupboards.”

D’ar could have told her what she’d find in the cupboards – boring stuff. Mrs. Duras wasn’t the best cook and made pretty basic meals. Evidently, Mrs. Royalton came to the same conclusion because her look of exasperation intensified as she looked through the cabinets and found nothing snack-worthy.

“Do you know if there’s anything in the refrigerator like yogurt?” She asked the kids. All three of the solemnly shook their heads no.

Finally, Mrs. Royalton spotted the cabinet above the refrigerator – the sole cupboard with a lock on it too. “What’s in there?”

“Mr. Duras’ special cookies,” Marlene answered in a voice full of longing. “It’s his treat ‘cause he suffers all day.”

“Marlene!” Camille corrected her. “We’re not supposed to touch those.”

“You’re not, are you?” Mrs. Royalton muttered under her breath, causing D’ar to stifle a smile. He got the distinct feeling that Mrs. Royalton didn’t like either Mr. or Mrs. Duras much. “Today we’re going to make an exception.”

“I’ve got it,” Officer Li announced as she came back in the room. “One unlocked refrigerator coming up.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Royalton’s smile for the policewoman was bright. 

Officer Li unlocked the refrigerator with a flourish and, with a grin for the kids, said, “Open, Sesame!”

Marlene giggled and all three watched with interest as the door opened. As with the cabinets, there wasn’t a whole lot of fun stuff in the fridge that was interesting, but at least there was milk.

“Thank you so much,” Mrs. Royalton said to the police officer. “Did she happen to mention if the key worked on the cabinet too?”

The young woman shrugged and reached for one of the kitchen chairs. She was far too short to reach the cabinet without it. “Let’s find out.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary, I can do that,” Mrs. Royalton protested.

“Ma’am,” Officer Li told her, no longer smiling. “Please let me. I just really, really need to feel like I’ve done something for these kids right now.”

“Of course, I understand,” Mrs. Royalton stood back and let the police officer unlock the cabinet too. When she did, she made a cry of triumph at what she found there. “Ah-ha!”

When the officer hopped off the chair, she was brandishing the bag of Mr. Duras’ special cookies. They weren’t just special because they were pretty much the only cookies that came into the house, but also because they were expensive. The cookies were packaged in a small bag and Mr. Duras ate one every evening after dinner.

“Mr. Duras isn’t going to be happy if we eat his cookies,” Camille didn’t look happy about the situation.

“I think it’s time that Mr. Duras learns to share,” Mrs. Royalton said, but seeing the worried expressions on both Camille and D’ar’s faces, she made a promise. “Don’t worry, no one’s going to get in trouble for this, but if anyone does, I’ll make sure it’s me.”

Officer Li handed the cookies to Mrs. Royalton and gave the kids one last smile. “I gotta get back to work. You guys take it easy, okay? I promise that Emily won’t scare you anymore.”

Before any of them could thank her, the policewoman left the kitchen.

Mrs. Royalton took a deep breath. “All right, Camille, please get us some plates and, Charles, you get the glasses. Marlene, you help me look into the bag and see how many cookies there are.”

It didn’t take the older children long to complete their tasks and soon each of them were seated with a plate in front of them with not just one, but two cookies each. Marlene immediately picked hers up and took a bite, but both Camille and D’ar hesitated.

“It’s all right, I promise,” Mrs. Royalton said. She got the milk out of the refrigerator and started filling the first glass. All three kids gasped when she started pouring directly into it. “What’s wrong?”

“Mrs. Duras uses the measuring cup,” D’ar explained. “We each get eight ounces.”

“Well, not today,” Mrs. Royalton said firmly. She handed the first glass to Marlene and starting pouring a second. “Today you get as much milk as you want.”

Mrs. Royalton seemed determined to break every one of Mrs. Duras’ rules, but D’ar didn’t mind. He picked up the cookie and tentatively took a bite. He closed his eyes as the flavors burst inside his mouth. It was a soft cookie, full of bits of chocolate, coconut, and dried cherries. No wonder Mr. Duras didn’t want to share.

“With Emily out of the house, would you kids be okay if I go into the living room to talk to Mrs. Carlson?” Mrs. Royalton asked them. “I won’t leave the room, though, if you’re still scared.”

Whether it was the cookies or simply having been told repeatedly that Emily was gone, but even Marlene wasn’t scared anymore. In fact, she was happily munching on her cookie and didn’t bother to answer.

“We’ll be fine,” D’ar assured her. “We’ll yell if we need anything.”

“All right and if you do, I’ll come right back in,” Mrs. Royalton promised them. With a final glance at them she left the room.

“What do you think’s going to happen?” Camille whispered to D’ar.

“I don’t know,” D’ar whispered back. Neither one of them wanted to upset Marlene again and hoped she’d be too busy with her cookies to pay attention t what they were talking about. “But I bet they’ll move us.”

Camille’s eyes shined with hope. “You really think so?”

D’ar shrugged. “The police had to come and that can’t be good.”

“Just think, a whole glass of milk, any time you want,” Camille said. “No more talk of demons or going to hell.”

“Sleeping behind a door,” D’ar added. “No more Mr. Duras watching every move we make.”

Of course, there was a flip side, as D’ar knew. As bad as things were in the Duras house, it could always get worse. That’d been one of the things he’d learned ever since his dad died.

The children lapsed into silence, eating their cookies slowly to savor them. They’d just finished when Mrs. Royalton came back, this time joined by Mrs. Carlson.

“Well, children, we have some news, but based on what we saw earlier, I don’t think you’ll be unhappy about it.” Mrs. Carlson told them. “It’s going to be necessary to move all of you to new foster homes, Mr. and Mrs. Duras can’t take care of you anymore.”

“Did we do something wrong?” Marlene asked.

“No,” Mrs. Royalton was faster than her colleague when it came to reassuring them. “You haven’t done a single thing wrong. You shouldn’t think that this is your fault.”

“Are Mr. and Mrs. Duras in trouble?” Camille asked.

The social workers exchanged glances, but again, it was Mrs. Royalton who answered. “Yes.”

“Good,” Camille’s voice was vicious. 

“Camille,” Mrs. Carlson sounded aghast at the girl’s attitude. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“I don’t care,” Camille declared, chin trembling. “They’re mean and I hated living here.”

Mrs. Carlson sighed, but didn’t chastise her again. “Let’s go upstairs and get packed.”

“Come on, Charles” Mrs. Royalton put her hand on D’ar’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

The social workers took the children through the living room, but to D’ar’s relief, neither foster parent was in the room. The door to the basement was open and he could hear Mrs. Duras’ voice coming up those stairs. The light in Mr. Duras’ room was on, so that explained why he wasn’t in his recliner. There were no police officers in the living room either, although he could see a police car in the driveway. Maybe that was who Mrs. Duras was talking to downstairs. D’ar didn’t really care as long as he didn’t have to see the woman at the moment. The kids grabbed their school bags, books and papers on their way by.

D’ar had the same duffle bag he’d used when he’d move to his uncle’s. The odd thing was that the older he got, the less stuff he had to fill it. With Mrs. Royalton’s help, he folded his clothes and put them in first. There wasn’t much else, except for the printouts from his mom and dad’s obituaries. Mrs. Royalton noticed him carefully smoothing the paper out before stowing it away.

“Are those your parents?” She asked, after catching a glimpse of what was on the sheets.

“Yeah,” D’ar offered them for her to look at, pretty sure that Mrs. Royalton wouldn’t make him throw them away.

“They look like nice people; no wonder you miss them,” she said after studying the grainy photos for a moment and then handing them back. “Are these the only pictures you have?”

D’ar nodded, carefully putting the photos on the bottom of the duffle where they could lay flat. “The fire ruined everything else.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him.

“Thanks,” D’ar said. He wasn’t sure what else there was to say.

His school stuff was next. D’ar looked at the hated Transformers backpack. He didn’t know if he’d be switching schools or not. In a way, it didn’t matter, because every school wanted you to have a backpack. Still, he didn’t want to lose the opportunity to ditch the stupid thing. At his current school, he was tired of being teased about it and if he ended up going to a new school, he’d rather have a fresh start. It didn’t take long to decide that having no bag was better than using a Transformers’ bag.

“Don’t you want to take your backpack?” Mrs. Royalton asked as she watched him taking his schoolwork out of it and putting it into the duffle bag.

D’ar considered how to answer. On one hand, Mrs. Royalton was a social worker and they tended to disapprove of being wasteful. On the other hand, she’d been very understanding so far.

“I hate it,” he told her, deciding to be honest about it. “Mrs. Duras bought it because it was cheap, but I get teased about having a baby backpack all the time.”

“I see,” Mrs. Royalton thought about it for a moment and then winked at him. “Go ahead and empty it, but we’ll take it with us and throw it away somewhere Mrs. Duras can’t see. I don’t think she’s going to be allowed to have foster kids anymore, but just in case, she won’t be able to inflict it on any other kid.”

D’ar grinned at her, not quite believing she’d suggested something so great. “Cool.”

After putting the rest of his school stuff in, D’ar’s bag was far from full, but it was all he had. “What about the rest of my school stuff? It’s in my locker.”

“We’ll figure that out later,” Mrs. Royalton said. “What about your shoes?”

“They were wet, so they’re downstairs,” D’ar looked down at his feet. When they’d thought they’d have to run from Emily, the girls had been able to get theirs on, but not him.

“No, these,” Mrs. Royalton reached into the bottom of his closet and pulled a pair of brown dress shoes.

“Those aren’t mine.”

Mrs. Royalton looked confused. “I think I’ve seen you wear them before.”

“I have,” D’ar explained. “But they’re church and appointment shoes, Mrs. Duras had them when I got here. She said I had to take special good care of them, because they had to stay nice for the next kid.”

The social worker’s face got that pinched look that D’ar was beginning to recognize as showing up when she was especially displeased. “Mrs. Duras gets a stipend to clothe all of the children she takes care of, so the clothing belongs to the children, not her. Please put them on, since your other shoes are wet. You’re taking them with you.”

D’ar sighed. The dress shoes were too small and uncomfortable. Still, he didn’t want to disappoint Mrs. Royalton, especially since she’d been so great about the backpack. He sat on the bed and began to put the first shoe on, but struggled because his foot was too big. With some effort he got it stuffed in and reached for the other one.  
“No, it’s okay,” a hand on his wrist stopped him and he looked up to see Mrs. Royalton looking at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think to ask if they still fit.”

Shrugging, D’ar took the shoe off and dropped it back into the closet. “It’s not so bad when it’s just for a little while.”

“There’s no use wearing something that makes your feet hurt, if you’ve got others that will do.”

D’ar had a feeling that the social worker’s face would get that pinched look again when she saw the duct tape on his sneakers. He didn’t say anything, though. The dress shoes were dorky and he didn’t particularly want to bring them, even if they had fit.

By the time D’ar and Mrs. Royalton were done, so was Mrs. Carlson and the girls. They met in the hallway and D’ar wasn’t the only one of the three kids casting worried glances downstairs towards the living room.

“Do you want to say goodbye to Mr. or Mrs. Duras?” Mrs. Royalton asked gently, putting one hand on D’ar’s back.

“No, thank you, ma’am,” D’ar answered.

“I don’t want to see them ever again,” Camille added, eyes bright with tears.

“All right, you don’t have to,” Mrs. Royalton promised. She looked at her colleague. “Just give me a minute and I’ll make sure we’ll have a minute of privacy before we leave.”

She went swiftly down the stairs before Mrs. Carlson could say anything. First, Mrs. Royalton closed the door to Mr. Duras’ bedroom and then she went a down a few steps into the basement. Both times, she said something to the people inside, but D’ar was too far away to hear what it was. When she was finished, she closed the door to the basement before gesturing them to come down.

D’ar had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

“Children, we explained that you couldn’t stay here any longer,” Mrs. Carlson told them as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “We have emergency foster homes available for just this sort of sudden situation, but we don’t have one that can take all three of you.”

“No!” Marlene wailed, clutching onto Camille’s hand. The older girl didn’t look surprised, just exchanged a weary glance with D’ar.

“Don’t worry, Marlene,” Mrs. Carlson put a hand on the distraught girl’s shoulder. “We do have a foster home that will take both you and Camille tonight.”

From the way Camille started sniffling, it was clear that she’d caught the phrasing of that sentence as well as D’ar had. The two girls would be together tonight, but it didn’t sound like a guarantee that they’d be placed in the same foster home after that.

“Would you like to say goodbye to Charles?” Mrs. Carlson suggested. 

“Bye, Charles,” Marlene had stopped crying once she realized she was staying with Camille, but was willing to step forward to give D’ar a hug. He gladly hugged her back.

“Take care of yourself, Squirt,” he told her. She was smiling by the time she let go.

It was Camille’s turn next. Her hug wasn’t quite as fierce as Marlene’s had been, but she did whisper in his ear, softly enough not to be overheard. “Thanks for everything, D’ar. I know you tried to look out for us.”

Camille was the only person who used D’ar’s preferred name, although she didn’t dare do it when Marlene was around. Mrs. Duras would have most definitely not approved and Marlene, while she meant well, was too young to keep a secret.

“Hang in there,” D’ar whispered back to her. “I hope your next foster is better than here.”

He only said he hoped it would be better; D’ar was careful not to promise. Both he and Camille and been in the system long enough to know better. Things could always be worse.

With their goodbyes done, Mrs. Carlson herded the girls out the door. D’ar watched them walk to the car, Camille stopping to wave at him before she got in. D’ar sighed. They’d been nice.

“Charles, please get your shoes and we can get going too.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” D’ar hurried to the kitchen, still a little creeped out at knowing that both Mr. and Mrs. Duras were still in the house. He figured they were safely contained, but couldn’t help but feel like Mrs. Duras could pop out at him at any moment. With that fear in mind, he slipped his shoes on, not bothering to retie them, and made his way back to the front door.

“Wow, that was fas-. . . .” Mrs. Royalton’s voice broke off as she got a good look at the state of his sneakers. “What happened to your shoes?”

“Mrs. Duras says I’m hard on shoes,” D’ar shrugged. “And they’re expensive.”

“Oh, Charles,” Mrs. Royalton looked sad and D’ar immediately felt guilty for putting that look on her face again.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Mrs. Duras, on the other hand - . . . .” She sighed and put a bright smile on her face. “I bet you’re anxious to get out of here – shall we go?”

“Yeah.”

D’ar followed the social worker out to her car and he wasn’t at all tempted to even look back at the place where he’d lived the last several months. D’ar was anxious, however, to find out where he’d be living now, but Mrs. Royalton didn’t seem overly eager to tell him. That couldn’t be a good sign, but after everything that had happened that afternoon, he didn’t feel quite up to asking her about it either.

An uncomfortable silence filled up the car. It was broken when they drove by a playground and Mrs. Royalton started telling D’ar how she used to play at one like it when she was a girl, along with her older brother. Other stories followed, all featuring Philip, her brother. D’ar wasn’t sure why his social worker felt the need to share stories of her childhood, but it certainly beat talking about Mr. or Mrs. Duras.

“I hope you don’t mind, but we’ve got a quick detour to make and then we’ll stop for supper,” Mrs. Royalton said after some time had gone by and they were in a different neighborhood altogether. “Hopefully those cookies will hold you for a little while longer.”

“I’m fine,” D’ar assured her.

A few moments later, the social worker pulled the car aside at a strip mall. D’ar got a sinking feeling; malls were not fun places when you never had money to spend.

“Come on,” Mrs. Royalton said with a grin. “This won’t take long.”

D’ar trudged along behind her, only getting more confused when they walked into a shoe store. He’d never been shopping with a social worker before and the idea of waiting while she tried on shoes made him feel uncomfortable. He was surprised, then, when she walked by the ladies’ shoes and went straight to the men’s. Maybe she was getting something for her husband?

“I’m thinking that maybe you’ve outgrown the kid sizes,” Mrs. Royalton explained as they approached the section with sneakers. “We’ll try the smaller men’s sizes first and only go to the kids’ if they’re too big. We want you to have room to grow into.”

“You’re buying me shoes?” D’ar’s voice squeaked when he asked the question.

“Absolutely,” Mrs. Royalton told him. “By the looks of yours, Mrs. Duras should have a long time ago. Since she didn’t, we’re going to take care of it now.” She picked up a sample shoe and held it up for D’ar to see.“How about this one?”

D’ar gulped when he saw the price sticker and just shook his head.

“Okay,” she put it down and grabbed the next one. “Is this better? This is the brand that my husband prefers. Not that he actually plays tennis, but he does enjoy buying the equipment that makes it look like he does.”

Since it was even more expensive pair than the last one, D’ar shook his head even more wildly. “No, ma’am.”

With his second rejection, Mrs. Royalton figured out that there was more going on than just not liking the shoes. “Charles, just because you’re a foster child, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve nice things. The shoes you’re wearing are a disgrace – not to you, but the CPS. Not only is it bad for your feet, but I really don’t want you going into a new environment wearing something that could get you teased again.”

“But that’s just it,” D’ar explained a little desperately. “If there are other kids in the home, they won’t have fancy shoes.”

If D’ar showed up in a new foster home with expensive shoes like the first ones she’d picked out for him, they’d either get stolen or paint a big target on his back. D’ar would love having new shoes, but it just wasn’t worth the trouble it would cause.

Even though he hadn’t dared to explain that fact fully, comprehension came over Mrs. Royalton’s face. She put the latest shoe down with a sad smile. “How about we look for a pair that are new, but not so nice that they’ll draw too much attention?”

D’ar smiled. “That sounds perfect.”

It took longer than D’ar thought it would, but eventually they found a relatively plain gray pair of athletic shoes on the clearance rack. They still cost more money than he could remember Mrs. Duras spending at any one time, especially on him, but Mrs. Royalton seemed to think that they’d gotten a deal. After taking a couple of quick pictures of D’ar in his old shoes, D’ar was allowed to wear the new ones out of the store and gladly dumped the old pair in the trash on his way out.

“I don’t know about you, but shopping gives me an appetite,” Mrs. Royalton said. “Shall we get something to eat?”

“Sure.” One thing that living with the Duras’ house had taught D’ar was to never, ever pass up a chance to eat.

Mrs. Royalton again surprised him when she pulled to a fast food place. She seemed far too fancy for that kind of stuff, but she had just bought him shoes and maybe didn’t want to spend much more on a foster kid. Whatever the reason was, D’ar didn’t care. It’d been ages since he’d had a burger and fries.

When they went in, Mrs. Royalton told D’ar to order what he wanted and even stopped him from ordering a kids’ meal, saying he needed more food than that. Since he was far too old for the toy that came with the kids’ meal, D’ar didn’t object. When it came time to get their drinks, however, D’ar still looked to Mrs. Royalton for direction.

“I think the lemonade might be best,” she said, somewhat apologetically. “It’s kind of late in the day for caffeine.

While D’ar was a little disappointed that he couldn’t have soda, lemonade was a good too. They found a table and Mrs. Royalton urged him to eat, but she didn’t really have to. Fast food was a treat for D’ar and he dug in with relish. After the first bite, he closed his eyes in pleasure, wanting to concentrate on the taste for a minute. When he opened them, he saw that Mrs. Royalton was looking at him, that expression of sadness on her face again. When she saw he was watching, she quickly changed it to a smile.

“Good, huh?” She asked. He nodded enthusiastically.

D’ar was so absorbed in enjoying his hamburger and fries that he didn’t notice that Mrs. Royalton was just raking her fork through her own salad rather than eating much. He ate quickly, but tried to be neat so that she didn’t regret taking him out, even if it was just fast food. All too soon, he’d devoured the last bite, down to the smallest of the French fries. He even drained his lemonade and looked at the glass regretfully, wishing he was brave enough to ask for a refill.

“Why don’t you get some more?” Mrs. Royalton suggested. D’ar noticed she wasn’t even halfway done with her salad.

He slid out of his seat. “Can I get you anything?”

Her smile was quick and bright. “Yes, thank you, that would lovely. I had lemonade too.”

D’ar took both glasses to the soda dispenser and was careful when filling them up to remember which was which. He also didn’t want to get Mrs. Royalton’s all drippy. Her clothes looked expensive and he didn’t want to ruin them, not when she’d been so nice to him.

When D’ar got back to the table, he was a little discomfited to see that Mrs. Royalton had cleared the remnants of their meal away. He would have sworn she wasn’t done eating yet. Instead of the tray, though, there was a thick folder that she must have taken from her ever-present bag.

“Here you go,” D’ar handed the social worker her drink and slid back into his chair, but his happiness at the treat had fizzled. He had a feeling that there was going to be a discussion and that he probably wasn’t going to like it. He rarely did when one of those CPS folders were involved.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Royalton smiled at him again and patted his arm. “Don’t look like you’re headed to your execution. There’s some good news for you here.”

D’ar just looked at her. After getting him out of the Duras house, understanding about the backpack, buying him new shoes and treating him to dinner, he’d do just about anything for Mrs. Royalton. Anything, that was, but automatically believe that something good could come out of Child Protective Services.

“All right, I’ll just have to prove it to you,” Mrs. Royalton had obviously read his expression correctly. “You’re going to have to stick with me, though, because this is going to take a few minutes to explain, okay?”

“Okay.”

Mrs. Royalton took a deep breath. “I know that you’re aware that Alexander d’Artagnan was your stepfather.”

“He was my father,” D’ar interrupted. No matter how nice Mrs. Royalton had been, he wasn’t going to let anyone regulate his dad to mere stepfather status. “I don’t care what any stupid piece of paper says – or doesn’t say. He was my dad.”

His vehemence took her by surprise, but the social worker recovered quickly. “When it comes to love and the way he raised you while he was alive, absolutely he was your father. No question about it.” Her face gentled. “I’m just talking legally. That stuff on ‘the stupid piece of paper’ is actually pretty important.”

“That’s why I went to live with Uncle Jamie instead of Aunt Catherine,” D’ar relented enough to say. “Because she wasn’t really my aunt.”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Royalton nodded. “If your father had formally adopted you, then his younger sister would have legally been your aunt. She still could have said she wasn’t able to take care of you, though.”

D’ar sighed. He’d always known that his dad wasn’t his father, but it had never mattered while the man was still alive. His dad told him that he’d chosen D’ar as his son and that was every bit as special as if D’ar had been born his own. D’ar had believed him too, right up until the moment that Aunt Catherine had turned him over to CPS the day after the funeral.

“Do you know what a biological father is, Charles?” Mrs. Royalton asked. 

“Yeah,” D’ar felt the blush creeping up his face. “I had health class.”

“Good,” the social worker looked relieved. Apparently she didn’t like the idea of having to explain it to D’ar any more than D’ar did. “When your mom had you, she didn’t fill in the name of your biological father on your birth certificate and, if she ever told anyone who he was, they didn’t speak up after she died or when your father died.”

“I know,” D’ar said. Aunt Catherine’d had a lot to say about that, even claiming that his mother probably didn’t even know who’d gotten her pregnant. She wouldn’t have dared say any of that stuff if her brother had still been alive. D’ar had been such a naïve little kid that, before his dad died, he’d actually thought that Aunt Catherine had liked both his mom and him.

“So when your mother died, your father still wanted to take care of you and no one contested that. I’m not sure why he didn’t formally adopt you, but he didn’t and when he died, the state found your Uncle James to take care of you. Unfortunately, though, when your uncle died, there was no one else on the Castelmore side of the family to take custody, the d’Artagnan family weren’t legally related and no one knew who your biological father was. That’s how you ended up in the foster care system.”

D’ar wanted to say ‘lucky me,’ but Mrs. Royalton had really been nice to him and she didn’t deserve him taking out his hurt on her. Instead, he just shrugged. D’ar continued to stare at his drink cup, tracing the pattern printed on it with his finger.

“Something has changed,” Mrs. Royalton’s voice thrummed a little and D’ar looked at her. The social worked looked as excited as she sounded. “We received some new information a couple of months ago, Charles. We know who your father was, your biological father.”

For a second, it felt like D’ar couldn’t breathe. He’d loved his dad, more than just about anything. Even so, after how awful it was to live with Uncle Jamie and how the foster system was even worse, he’d started wondering a while ago about his biological father – and if the man would show up to save him. D’ar never had those thoughts for long, though, and he felt bad about it for days afterwards. They felt too much like he was betraying his dad.

His real dad, Alexander d’Artagnan.

“Charles, did you hear me?”

All of a sudden, the fear from earlier in the day combined with the hurt and loneliness that had built up over years of being an orphan. D’ar got really, really angry.

“And now he wants me for his son?” He all but spat the words out. “Well, he can’t have me. He’s a couple of years too late.”

He would have gotten up, although D’ar had no idea of where he would have gone, but a hand on his arm stopped him. “Charles, please. I’m not through yet. You promised you’d stick with me, remember?”

Unfortunately, D’ar did remember and because his dad, his real dad, told him that promises were important things to keep, he stayed seated. Not trusting himself to say anything more, however, he just crossed his arms over his chest and glared off into space.

He heard Mrs. Royalton take a deep breath. “I said we found out who your biological father was.” She hesitated for a moment. “I’m so sorry, Charles, but he’s deceased as well.”

Shocked, D’ar lifted his face to look at her “He’s dead? Then why did you say you had something good to talk to me about? Why bring it up at all?”

“Because he wasn’t the only family member we found,” she told him. “Your biological father was a lot older than your mother and he already had two sons. In fact, his sons were grown-ups, or nearly so, when you were born. I suppose we’ll never know what happened between him and your mom that ended up with him not being involved with you, but it could be because he’d already raised children. He was in a different stage of his life than your mother was.”

D’ar wasn’t sure what that last part meant. He did understand what she said about his biological father already having kids and that made sense. His biological father’s other sons were probably perfect and he wouldn’t have needed a loser like D’ar.

“Charles, I think it’s important for you to know that your biological father didn’t just abandon your mother. We’ve learned that he set up a system so that she would receive support money. He might not have been there for you physically, but he provided financial support so that it would be easier for your mother to raise you.”

Something about that didn’t sound right. “So why didn’t he do anything when she died or when Dad died? Where was he then?”

Her eyes were kind when she answered. “I’m sorry, Charles, but he’d already passed away by then. He died when you were little more than a baby. For all we know, he might have changed his mind about being in your life later, but he simply ran out of time. He did care enough to set up the financial support in a manner that meant it continued after he died. In fact, that’s how we eventually figured out he was your father.”

D’ar sniffed. He studied his cup again, not wanting to look at the social worker and see the sympathy in her eyes. He absolutely wasn’t sad at the news that the man who’d abandoned him before he was born had died. Not even a little bit. “How did he do that?”

“That’s. . . complicated,” Mrs. Royalton hedged instead of answering directly. “What’s important to remember is that we traced the account to him and, once we found your biological father, we found your older brother.”

D’ar’s head shot up so fast that he was momentarily dizzy. He’d heard when the social worker had mentioned that his biological father already had two kids, but somehow hadn’t connected them to a relationship to him. “Brother?”

“Yes, like I said, you have an older brother.” Mrs. Royalton smiled at him. “His name is Olivier Athos and he’s very anxious to meet you.”

“He knows about me?” D’ar squeaked.

“He only very recently learned that you exist, but yes,” Mrs. Royalton said. “In fact, he didn’t know about you until Friday.”

“And he wants to meet me?” D’ar repeated, wanting to make sure he got that part right.

“Yes, he does, very much so,” Mrs. Royalton opened the folder and pulled out a picture. The man in the photo had silver hair, so unless his biological father had been ancient, it was obviously too old to be his brother. The picture must be of his father, something that Mrs. Royalton soon confirmed. “This was your biological father, Henry Athos.”

D’ar picked up the photo and studied it. It looked like a formal portrait, the kind of thing you’d see in a magazine. To his disappointment, he didn’t feel anything about the man pictured except envy, he doubted he’d ever feel as confident as the man in the photo looked. “I’ve never seen him before and I don’t remember my mom mentioning that name either.”

“It’s true that you look more like your mother,” Mrs. Royalton got out another photo, “but I think the same thing can be said of your brother. He doesn’t look much like Henry Athos either.”

The second picture was of a much younger man than the first, although he wasn’t any more familiar to D’ar than Henry Athos had been. He looked to be a few years older than Mrs. Royalton and he had brown hair and blue eyes. The expression on his face was solemn, almost sad. Despite the roller coaster of mixed up feelings he’d been having during the last few minutes, D’ar felt sympathy for this unknown brother. D’ar knew what it was like to feel sad too.

“He doesn’t look very happy,” D’ar commented.

Mrs. Royalton laughed softly. “That’s because this is his driver’s license picture, no one looks happy in those. Besides,” she dug another photo out of her bag and D’ar immediately recognized it as his last school photo. Not that his fosters at the time had bought the photo package, but he’d at least seen it the proof of it. “You have to admit that you don’t look very happy in this picture either.”

D’ar ducked his head. “I suppose not.”

“Your brother doesn’t just want to meet you, Charles,” Mrs. Royalton told him softly. “He would very much like for you to come live with him. Permanently. That would mean you’d have family again and no more foster homes.”

He wasn’t sure what to say about that, so D’ar just ran his fingers over the photo, quietly thinking. A forever home sounded good, but he’d had experience with being taken in by a relative and that hadn’t worked out so well – and he’d at least known Uncle Jamie a little bit before going to live with him. He didn’t know this new brother at all.

“Charles?”

“What if he’s like Uncle Jamie?” D’ar asked, not looking away from the photo. 

“I never met your Uncle Jamie, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that your brother has been vetted very thoroughly.”

“What does vetted mean?” D’ar asked, still staring at the picture.

“It means to investigate or to check someone out and your brother, Olivier, has been checked out,” the social worker told him.

D’ar bit his lip. Mrs. Royalton had been so nice to him, but she’d also placed him in the Duras house . He hated to use that against her, but this was too important. “You said that the Mr. and Mrs. Duras were the best too and they weren’t. What if you missed something again?”

He heard the social worker take a deep breath and figured he might have hurt her feelings. D’ar glanced up briefly and she was looking at him with that sad face again, making him feel really guilty despite his earlier resolve. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Mrs. Royalton assured him, but she still looked sad. Or guilty. “You have every reason to doubt, what first with your Uncle Jamie and then with your last foster family. The reason that I’m so confident that your brother isn’t like them is that it wasn’t just me or even the CPS that checked him out. Do you know what a District Attorney is?”

For once, his being forced to overhear so many of Mr. Duras’ news shows while he did his homework paid off. “A District Attorney is like the most important lawyer around and takes murderers to trial.” D’ar answered, after thinking about it for a minute – and then had a question of his own. “Why would the District Attorney know my brother? Is this Oliver a bad guy?”

“It’s Olivier,” Mrs. Royalton corrected his pronunciation. “And, no, he’s not a criminal. In fact, your brother has done work for the District Attorney’s office and the assistant district attorney, in particular, speaks very highly of him. So do quite a few officers and detectives with the NYPD, his former Army commander, several soldiers he used to serve with, and a couple of very prominent business men.”

Mrs. Royalton spread some papers out on the table and D’ar finally let go of the photo long enough to glance at them. They were all letters of various types and formats, but they all seemed to be singing the praises of Olivier Athos.

The social worker didn’t try to talk to him while he was looking them over and D’ar was grateful. Not only was he not the fastest reader around, but he really wanted to think about what the letters had to say. Eventually, though, he looked up at Mrs. Royalton and asked a single question.

“Why?”

Her forehead crinkled with confusion. “What do you mean, ‘why’?”

D’ar shrugged. “Why would my brother want me to come live with him?” She looked dismayed at his question and D’ar rushed to explain. “He’s got his own life and maybe he wants kids some day, why would he want a little brother he doesn’t even know to get in the way of that?” Something occurred to him. “Or maybe he’s married and has kids already? Why would he want me?”

He’d gotten quite upset as he asked his barrage of questions and was blinking away his own tears. Mrs. Royalton had been sitting across from him, but when she saw him getting distraught, got up to take the chair next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

“Oh, Charles, why wouldn’t he want you to come live with him? Anyone would be proud to have a brother like you, you’re a great kid.”

D’ar sniffed. “No, I’m not. My social studies and English grades are crap, kids at every school I’ve been to have called me a loser, and no foster family will keep me longer than a few months.”

Her arm around him tightened for a minute. “Let’s take those points one by one, shall we? First, your grades in a couple of subjects could do a little better, but your grades in math and science are top notch. Weren’t you put into an accelerated math class?”

“Yeah,” D’ar admitted. He’d also been teased mercilessly about it.

“Okay, well there you go. As for the kids bullying you – and that’s what it is, D’ar, straight and simple – did that happen before, when you lived with your dad in Lupiac?”

D’ar shook his head. He remembered a time when he’d had a lot of friends. “No.”

“I think the kids that are calling you a loser know that you’re vulnerable because you’re a foster child and that’s not your fault. Not the foster child part and you are definitely not a loser,” Mrs. Royalton sounded so fierce that D’ar looked up at her. She smiled at him. “If you ask me, the kids teasing you are the losers.”

Back when his dad had been alive, D’ar didn’t know any foster kids, but then, he couldn’t imagine treating any other kid the way he’d been teased since coming to the big city, first to live with his uncle and then in the foster care system. Maybe Mrs. Royalton was right, maybe it was the other kids who were at fault and not him. “Maybe. But if I’m such a great kid, then why do all the foster families get rid of me?” 

The social worker sighed. “There are a lot of different reasons that can happen, Charles. A foster family might not truly be prepared for bringing in another child or maybe their own kids are struggling and they need to concentrate on them. If memory serves me right, one of your foster fathers got a job transfer and had to move. And didn’t another couple separate?”

“Not all of them got rid of me for that kind of stuff,” D’ar pointed out. “The first couple, the Wilsons, said I was too disruptive at night and the Smiths sent me back for the same reason.”

Mrs. Royalton squeezed him again and, to his embarrassment, D’ar found himself leaning into the hug. “You were a little boy who’d seen his father killed and then just a couple of months later discovered his uncle’s body. Of course you’re prone to nightmares. Any family, foster or otherwise, should know that and sympathize. I’ll keep saying this until you believe me, Charles, none of this is your fault.”

“What if my brother gets tired of my nightmares too and sends me back?” Charles whispered hoarsely. It was true that he didn’t have them nearly as often as he used to and he’d gotten a lot better about not crying out too loudly, but he still woke up in tears at least once or twice a week.

Mrs. Royalton let go so she could lift his chin and make him meet her eyes. “There are a couple of things I haven’t told you about your brother yet.”

D’ar wiped his face. Despite his best efforts, a tear or two had leaked out. “What’s that?”

“First of all, your brother used to be a soldier; he was in the Army’s Special Forces. Have you heard of them?”

“Yeah, like the A-Team, right?” D’ar had seen the movie at one of his previous foster houses.

Mrs. Royalton laughed a little. “Well, I’m sure it was exciting, but maybe not as exciting as the A-Team. What I’m getting at is that your brother was in combat and no matter how big and brave a soldier is, that can be scary. I bet he understands about bad dreams.” She hesitated before continuing. “Do you remember what I said when I told you that your biological father had children before you were born?”

It took a moment, but D’ar recalled her words. “You said he had two sons. Do I have more than one brother?”

“You did,” Mrs. Royalton’s face was sad again. “Olivier is the oldest and Thomas was three years younger.” The way she worded that was a little ominous. “But, you see, Thomas died. So, in the space of just a couple of years, Olivier’s mother, father and brother died and he’s been without family ever since.”

It was a little creepy. D’ar’s mom, dad and uncle died and this new brother’s mom, dad and brother died. Did everyone D’ar was related to die? Apparently it was something that he and brother had in common, but it wasn’t the kind of similarity you felt good about.

“So, there’s more than one reason that your brother wants you to come live with him,” Mrs. Royalton said gently. “First, I think he needs a family every bit as much as you do.”

It was weird to think of a grown-up needing a family. D’ar thought back to his parents, though, and how they seemed happiest when all three of them were together. Maybe adults did need family, even if it wasn’t in the same way that a kid did.

“You said more than one reason,” D’ar prompted her. His sadness was slowly being overcome by curiosity.

“I also told you that your brother had been a soldier,” Mrs. Royalton gladly complied. “One of the very first things he told me, when I asked him the same question about why he was so certain he wanted you to live with him, was that he’d learned in the Army that you never leave a man behind. Your brother told me straight out that he had no intention whatsoever in leaving his little brother behind, no matter what.” She put her arm around D’ar again. “So, you see, Charles, I think this has a very good chance of working out. In fact, I’ve known about your brother for months, but I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure he was good enough for you to live with.”

D’ar picked up the picture again, being careful not to jostle Mrs. Royalton’s arm off his shoulders. “Maybe it would be worth trying.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear you say that,” Mrs. Royalton gave him a squeeze and then went back to her own seat. “There is one final check that both you and your brother have to go through, however.”

“Me?” D’ar asked, surprised. She’d made it sound like a done deal.

“Because this is a potential permanent custody case and not a simple foster placement, it’ll need to go through the family court,” The social worker explained. “The case has been assigned to Judge Fredrick and she’s very experienced.” Mrs. Royalton leaned forward like she was sharing a great secret. “I think she’s been a judge longer than you and I have been alive, even if we added our ages together.

“So I might not go live with my brother?” D’ar’s forehead creased, he was having a hard time keeping up.

“I think you probably will,” Mrs. Royalton answered, smiling the biggest smile he’d seen from her yet. “but Judge Fredrick has the final say. You meet with her tomorrow morning and I hope that your brother will be able to meet with her tomorrow afternoon. Normally things don’t move anywhere near this fast, but your circumstances are different. Just think, by this time tomorrow, you might be settling into a new home.”

Which reminded D’ar of the question he’d been afraid to ask before. “But where will I stay tonight? Am I going to an emergency foster home too?”

The happy look slid off his social worker’s face. “The problem, Charles, is that there’s not a lot of foster homes that can take in a new child on very short notice. The single emergency foster home available for tonight only had two slots and those had to go to the youngest of the three of you, which meant the girls.”

D’ar began to wish he hadn’t eaten his dinner so quickly, because it was beginning to rumble around in his stomach.

“You’ll be staying in a group home tonight,” the social worker told him.

“But I thought you said I didn’t do anything wrong?” D’ar heard the desperation in his voice, but couldn’t stop it from happening. “You said over and over that I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Hey,” Mrs. Royalton tried to pat his hand to comfort him, but Charles snatched it away. “Group homes are not so bad. They’re certainly not meant as a punishment.”

“Only troublemakers go there,” D’ar whispered as he stared down at the table. “Or crazy kids.”

“Yes and all foster kids are losers too.”

Her statement and the flat tone of voice she said it in made D’ar look up again. Mrs. Royalton was looking at him with one eyebrow lifted.

“That’s what people say about foster kids and we know that’s not true, right?” She challenged him. “You’re a great kid and I bet Camille and Marlene are very nice too. So are all the other kids I work with.”

“Yeah,” D’ar still wasn’t convinced about himself, but his latest foster sisters had been nice. So had some of the other kids he’d shared a foster home with.

“So if it’s not true that all foster kids are losers, then maybe it’s not true that a group home is so bad,” Mrs. Royalton tried to reason away D’ar’s fear. “I’ll admit, there are some group homes that are designed for foster kids that have a hard time obeying the rules or that maybe have special needs, but most group homes are for kids that are in between placements or who are close to timing out and need help learning how to cope outside of the system for when they become legal adults.”

D’ar looked at her hopefully. “Am I going to one of those homes?”

Mrs. Royalton started packing her stuff up. “Yes. The group home you’ll be staying at is certified to take children as young as ten, although I don’t think there are any in residence at the moment that are that young. There will be more rules than what there are at most foster homes, but after seeing what Mrs. Duras put you through, I think you’ll find it a piece of cake.”

“Okay,” D’ar sighed and got up as she did. She put her hand on his shoulder as they walked out and he didn’t try to shake it off.

“Hey, we haven’t tossed that backpack yet,” Mrs. Royalton said as they got to the car. “Do you want to do that now?”

“Yeah, that’d be good.” D’ar was glad that she remembered it. There was no way he wanted to show up at a group home with a Transformers backpack. Even if it stayed in the car, he had a feeling that somehow the other kids would know of its presence and make life really hard for him.

Mrs. Royalton popped the trunk open and D’ar grabbed the backpack. There were garbage cans outside of the fast food restaurant and he immediately went to one and shoved the vinyl bag into the opening. Then, for good measure, he pushed down as far it would go. Even before he’d moved away, someone walked up to the garbage can and threw an armful of empty cups and wrappers into the can too. The hated backpack was well and truly gone.

“Feel better?” Mrs. Royalton asked as D’ar got into the car and fastened his seat belt.

“A little,” D’ar said. “I am glad to get rid of that thing.”

“I’m sorry, I should have thought to get you a new one at the shoe store,” Mrs. Royalton apologized as she directed the car back out into traffic. “They sold them, but I didn’t think of it.”

“That’s okay, the shoes were enough,” D’ar replied. “The school year’s done in a couple of months anyway.” Something occurred to him. “Will I be switching schools?”

It was Mrs. Royalton’s turn to shrug. “That’s a good question. It will depend on if you go to live with your brother. He doesn’t live anywhere near the school, but has a flexible schedule. He said he’d be willing for you to finish the school year out there and then consider options for next year.” They were at a red light and she turned briefly to look at him. “Do you like the school?”

“It’s okay,” D’ar said.

After the big deal he’d made over the group home, D’ar wasn’t about to tell her that he hated the school. Truthfully, it didn’t really matter. He’d enjoyed school in Lupiac, but since being in New York City, D’ar was used to either being the new kid or the foster kid,, so none of his school experiences had been a lot of fun. One school was mostly like another to him and all of them unpleasant.

D’ar wasn’t sure how long the drive to the group home was, but Mrs. Royalton seemed determined to fill it up with more stories about her and her brother. After their earlier conversation, though, D’ar knew what she was up to. He figured Mrs. Royalton was telling them all of these stories to make him feel better about finding out that he had a brother too. He let her talk, but mostly the words just washed over him. He was too busy thinking about the new knowledge of his brother, but even that was being overtaken with nervousness over the impending evening at a group home.

“Charles, did you hear me?”

Guiltily, D’ar turned his head to look at his social worker. “No, sorry. I guess I was thinking too hard.”

Her smile was full of understanding. “And I guess I gave you a lot to think about. I was just saying that you might want to know what your brother does for a living, it’s kind of interesting.” She paused as though expecting D’ar to comment, but he stayed silent. Her smile tensed a little, but she gamely continued. “He’s a private detective. Well, his company provides security services too.”

She was right, that was interesting. Very interesting.

“Really?” D’ar asked. “Like on TV?”

Pleased to have caught his attention, Mrs. Royalton told him more. “Your brother tells me it’s not nearly as exciting as they show it on television, but yes. That’s why he’s worked with both the District Attorney’s office and with the NYPD. Apparently he has quite the good reputation.”

The man who’d murdered D’ar’s father had never been caught. Lupiac’s police department was too small to handle a murder investigation, so the county sheriff’s department had been investigating it. Since his uncle’d lived in New York City, D’ar had moved there and a couple of times, deputies had come in from upstate to talk to him about it. No one had in a long time, though, since months before Uncle Jamie had died. 

D’ar couldn’t wait to get old enough so that he could solve the murder himself. It was the least he could do for his dad. That always seemed like it was such a long time away, though. If D’ar was behaved super good and his brother liked him, maybe this Olivier would be willing to give D’ar a family discount so that D’ar could hire him to find his dad’s killer. Or maybe he’d be willing to train D’ar, so that D’ar could do it himself.

With those thoughts running through his head, the last part of the drive to the group home went quicker than the first. Before D’ar knew it, Mrs. Royalton had pulled the car into the driveway of a large, two story house. D’ar swallowed heavily.

“Welcome to the Strong Kids House,” Mrs. Royalton said brightly as she turned the car off. “I have placed other kids here, so I know from experience that it’s well-run. You’ll be fine here tonight, Charles, and with any luck, it’s only for the one night.”

Mrs. Royalton got out of the car and motioned for D’ar to follow. He did and went to the back, grabbing his duffle after she’d opened the trunk. Now that he knew he’d be staying at a group home, he was doubly glad he’d talked her out of buying him the expensive shoes.

With a confidence that D’ar absolutely lacked, Mrs. Royalton walked to the front door. She had one hand on D’ar’s back, in between his shoulder blades. She wasn’t pushing him, but neither did he have much choice other than moving forward. D’ar hoped that no one would answer when Mrs. Royalton rang the door bell, but no such luck. Within a few moments, a man had answered.

“Hello, Ann,” the man’s smile was as big as he was tall. “It’s good to see you again,” he next looked at D’ar and he opened the door fully and gestured them inside. “And you must be Charles. Welcome.”

Mrs. Royalton led D’ar inside, completing the introduction as she did so. “Charles, this is Mr. Feltner. He and his wife are the House Parents.”

“Rachel’s eager to meet you, but she’s supervising the other kids cleaning up the kitchen after dinner,” Mr. Feltner told them. “Have you had supper, Charles?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh we’re not quite that formal here, just call me Mr. Feltner and we’ll be fine,” Mr. Feltner looked at the social worker. “I’m assuming you’ll want to see Charles settled a little before you take off.”

D’ar held his breath, but Mrs. Royalton was quick to answer in the affirmative, even though she seemed a little distracted by reading a text on her phone. “Yes, absolutely, It’s been a trying day for Charles and I think that’s best.”

“Not a problem, just follow me,” Mr. Feltner headed up the stairs, talking as he climbed. “Charles, this is a group home for just boys, so we have thing separated by age.”

As he got farther into the house, D’ar realized that it wasn’t really one house, but two of those tall townhouses that had been combined. That made it quite a bit bigger on the inside than it had looked on the outside.

“That side is for the older kids, fifteen and above,” Mr. Feltner pointed to the part of the house on the right. “This side is where Mrs. Feltner and I have our bedroom and is also where the younger kids’ bedrooms are. You’re the only one under 15, so other than us, you’ll have the place to yourself.” 

Mr. Feltner led them down the hall on the left. “The House Parents’ bedroom is absolutely off limits at all times.” The next room was a bathroom. “This bathroom is shared by the kids on this side of the house, but since there haven’t been any younger kids for a while, we’ve been letting the big kids use it too.” They passed two empty bedrooms before coming to the one at the very end. “I thought you might like some privacy, so this one’s yours. Unless you’d rather be closer to Mrs. Feltner and me?”

“No, this is fine, thank you.” D’ar kind of liked the idea of a little space.

The three of them entered the bedroom. It wasn’t very big and it was easy to see why. There was an open door at the back of the room and D’ar could see a toilet and a sink.

“Each bedroom has a powder room, so there’s really no reason for you to leave your room after lights out,” Mr. Feltner explained. “In fact, there is a door alarm on each bedroom door. You’re not locked in, but we’ll hear it if your door opens, plus there are motion sensors in the hallways. Our boys stay put at night. I know that sounds a little strict, but it also keeps everyone in their own space and, therefore, safe.”

D’ar swallowed, hard. Who were these other kids that there was so much security. “Okay.”

He must not have sounded convinced, but managed to relax a little when Mrs. Royalton put a hand on his shoulder. “Beats not having a door, right?”

“I suppose,” D’ar reluctantly agreed.

“Charles has a health check-up first thing in the morning, so I’ll be back at 8:30 to pick him up,” Mrs. Royalton instructed. “Charles, I’m sorry, I should have mentioned earlier, but you’ll need to skip breakfast. They’ll want you to come in fasting.”

D’ar found that confusing. “Why, I just had my check-up a couple of months ago?”

He didn’t miss how the adults exchanged glances.

“It’s standard operating procedure when children are removed from a foster home due to a violation that could lead to unsafe conditions,” Mrs. Royalton explained. “Emily Duras tested positive for drug use and a search of the property discovered drugs in the basement area she’d been staying in.”

“I didn’t take any!” D’ar declared. “I didn’t even see her take any.” Although he’d been pretty sure she’d been on something.

“I know and I’m sorry to surprise you with this,” Mrs. Royalton put a hand on his shoulder and held up her phone with the other. “I just found out myself a couple of minutes ago.”

“Okay, no breakfast for Charles in the morning,” Mr. Feltner gave D’ar a sympathetic look. “We’ll make sure you get a snack before bed tonight, okay?”

D’ar shrugged. “Okay.”

“Hey Hef,” a new voice came from the doorway and all three turned. A teenager stood there. He looked huge to D’ar and was maybe 15-16 years old. “The Missus said to tell you that the kitchen’s all done and the movie starts in five.”

“Thanks, Balthazar,” Mr. Feltner said. “Finish up that make-up homework and you can join us.”

“You got it,” the teen left, although he’d eyed D’ar with interest before he walked away.

“Hef?” Mrs. Royalton asked as the other boy was gone.

Mr. Feltner shrugged. “It’s short for HF or House Father.” He grinned quickly. “Rachel would be fine with something similar, but they all insist on calling her the Missus.” He reached out and ruffled D’ar’s hair. “I guess they know who’s in charge.”

D’ar did his best not to duck the gesture. His dad used to do that and he didn’t really like anyone else being so familiar with him.

“Since Charles is leaving in the morning, he probably doesn’t need to unpack,” Mrs. Royalton spoke quickly, as though she’d sensed his discomfort.

“Sounds good,” Mr. Feltner agreed. “And, Charles, you don’t have to call us Hef or the Missus if you don’t want to. Mr. and Mrs. Feltner is fine or even House Father or House Mother, okay?”

“Okay.” Using the formal names was just fine with him; after living at the Duras house for a couple of months, D’ar couldn’t see himself being so familiar with an adult.

“Leave your bag on the bed and let’s head downstairs,” Mr. Feltner suggested. “You can say goodbye to Mrs. Royalton and then join the others for a movie.”

They did as the House Father suggested. D’ar stopped awkwardly at the door. He’d been feeling better about living at the group home, but all of the security measures and the size of the other foster kid had made him uneasy again. He wanted to ask Mrs. Royalton to take him with her, but didn’t want to seem like a baby.

“I’ll see you first thing in the morning,” Mrs. Royalton promised. “With the movie, the time will go so fast that it’ll be morning before you know it.”

“Okay,” D’ar didn’t know if he was supposed to hug her or not. Normally, he’d never consider it, but it’d been a rough day. Aware that there was a room full of kids older him in the next room, though, he settled for just waving. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Mrs. Royalton took a deep breath and for the barest of moments, D’ar got the feeling that it was as hard for her to leave as it was for him to have her go. She found a bright smile to direct at him, though, shook Mr. Feltner’s hand, and walked away.

Mr. Feltner let D’ar watch for a moment, then put a hand on his shoulder and directed him away from the door. “Come on, I’m sure the others are ready to start the movie.”

The living room was large, which made sense given the number of people living in the house. It had a large couch in an L-shape and half a dozen or so chairs of different types and styles. There were even a couple of bean bags. The TV was a bigger than any that D’ar had seen before and was a flat screen.

After he’d studied the room, D’ar had no choice but to look at the people filling it. He saw what Mr. Feltner meant; they were all clearly older than D’ar. All boys, as promised. Teens, really, although a few of them looked nearly adult to D’ar.

“Guys, this is Charles,” Mr. Feltner introduced him to the residents. “He’s going to be staying with us for at least tonight. Charles, this is Will, Byron, Ty and Zach.” The teens sprawled over the various chairs looked up as their names were called out. D’ar fervently hoped he wouldn’t be expected to remember them right away.

“You’ve already met Balthazar,” Mr. Feltner continued. “And the big guy on the sectional is Tariq.”

The teen sitting alone on the couch nodded almost regally. He looked older than the others and had some facial hair that was groomed so that it came to a point.

If all of these teens lived on the other side of the house, then at least some of them must share rooms. Although uncomfortable at being so much smaller than the other kids, D’ar was very relieved to have a room of his own.

“Can we get the movie started now, Hef?” One of the teens asked, D’ar thought it was Will. Or maybe Ty?

“Can’t have a movie without popcorn,” another teen protested. “The Missus said it’s just be a minute.”

“And the popcorn is ready,” a woman said, coming from the direction of what looked like the kitchen. She had several bowls stacked and she quickly handed off most of them before walking over to where her husband stood with D’ar. “And you must be Charles, welcome.”

“Hi,” D’ar blushed and looked down, shy to have attention brought to him in front of the other kids.

“Awww, idn’t he cute?” One of the other boys laughed.

Mrs. Feltner didn’t even turn around. “Byron, that’s enough. You remember what it’s like being new.”

“And besides,” Mr. Feltner chimed in, “you don’t have to watch the movie. Since you don’t have any homework, you could just go straight to bed.”

“Sorry,” the boy in question said. “Hey, Charlie. Welcome to the house.”

“Thanks,” D’ar wanted to sink through the floor. True, he hadn’t forced the other kid to make a comment, but it was bad that another foster’d gotten a reprimand because of him, the new kid.

“Charles, honey, why don’t you sit on the couch, Tariq doesn’t need the whole thing,” Mrs. Feltner suggested.

Even seated, it was easy to tell that Tariq was the biggest kid in the house and D’ar figured there was probably a reason that none of the others were sitting on the couch with him. Still, the House Mother had suggested it, so it wasn’t like he had a choice.

D’ar walked over to the couch and gingerly sat down. Tariq nodded again, but didn’t say anything and D’ar sighed in relief.

“Here you go, you two,” Mrs. Feltner handed D’ar one of the bowls of popcorn. “You’ll have to share. Tariq, make sure he gets some because he looks like he’s skin and bones. Eat up, Charles, I can make more.”

After taking a handful, D’ar offered the bowl to Tariq, who did the same thing. While D’ar was distracted with that, Mr. Feltner got the movie started. For a moment D’ar couldn’t believe his eyes when he realized that the movie was the latest in the Transformers series.

Mrs. Feltner disappeared, but Mr. Feltner settled at a nearby desk and was going through paperwork. With an adult in the room, the teens were pretty subdued, although D’ar did overhear some murmured comments about the young woman in the movie that made him blush. About 30 minutes into the film, D’ar realized that despite the special effects, the movie itself sucked every bit as much as the backpack had – and that was saying a lot. It wasn’t long after he’d come to that conclusion that the teen he’d met upstairs, Balthazar, came into the room.

“Homework done?” Mr. Feltner asked.

“Yup and the Missus checked it too,” Balthazar said.

“Good job, join the group,” Mr. Feltner realized that the popcorn was gone. “I’ll pop some more corn.”

There was a sense of anticipation as the House Father left the room. As soon as the coast was clear, the teens that had been slouched over the furniture straightened and looked at Balthazar with expressions of expectation.

“So? Anything?” The kid that had been reprimanded asked.

Balthazar snorted in disgust. “No, the kid’s stuff is crap.”

The other teens groaned in frustration. D’ar just sat trying not to let his jaw drop in surprise. He knew he’d be under scrutiny, but hadn’t thought his stuff’d be searched so quickly.

After getting the initial response he wanted, Balthazar grinned and held up a piece paper. A very familiar piece of paper. “Except for this. Damn, Charlie, your mama was hot!”

Bathazar passed the obituary of D’ar’s mother to the teen nearest to him, which happened to be Zach. The other boy took a look at the picture and whistled softly. Balthazar had spoken quietly too, obviously trying to not to alert either of the Feltners. “Man, I’d bang that in a hot minute. If she wasn’t dead, that is.”

D’ar jumped up from his seat. “Give me that back!”

The other boys laughed softly as Zach handed off the paper to Ty, keeping it out of D’ar’s reach. D’ar’s stomach sank as he realized that the other boys were doing a classic game of keep away with the new kid. Normally he’d just not respond until they got tired of it, but they were ‘playing’ with the only picture D’ar had of his mom.

Ty was about to make a comment, but unfortunately for him, he wasn’t the biggest kid present. D’ar was so caught up in hoping that they weren’t damaging the page that he hadn’t noticed that Tariq had risen from his seat on the couch. Ty hadn’t noticed either and so when Tariq snatched the page from Ty’s hands, he was taken utterly by surprise. Ty whirled to see who’d done it, but visibly wilted when he saw it was Tariq.

“You don’t mess with someone’s mother,” Tariq growled in a voice deep enough to be a full grown man’s. He glared at all of the other boys. “Hands off.”

“Okay, Tariq, I got it.” Ty shot an almost panicked glance at D’ar. “Sorry.”

D’ar nodded, but didn’t trust himself to speak. Tariq handed D’ar the photo of his mother. “Thank you,” D’ar whispered before settling back down on the couch. As he did, D’ar realized that his hands were shaking.

“Hey,” Tariq had also resumed sitting and his voice when he spoke to D’ar was a lot gentler than when he’d confronted the other boys. “It’d be best if you fold that up and put it in your back pocket.” When D’ar looked at him in confusion, the teen shrugged. “They may be idiots, but we share a house. It’s best not to get your housemate into trouble.”

The last thing that D’ar wanted at the moment was to keep the other boys out of trouble, but he could see the sense of the suggestion. It would be one thing if he was only in the group home the one night like Mrs. Royalton said, but what if he wasn’t? He wouldn’t want the other three teens to be out for revenge.

Sighing, D’ar started carefully folding the paper, making sure none of the creases were placed on the photo portion. When he was done, he slipped it into his back pocket. Tariq gave him a slight nod and D’ar took that as approval of his following the teen’s suggestion.

“You’re awfully quiet in here, boys,” Mr. Feltner came back with more popcorn. “That’s never a good sign.”

“It’s just a really great movie, Hef,” Zach claimed. All of the others nodded, including D’ar.

“Uh-huh,” Mr. Feltner looked like he didn’t believe them, but had no proof and so just passed the popcorn around. He went back to his desk and the teens all relaxed.

“The others, they either don’t have mothers or were taken from them because of neglect or crime,” Tariq told D’ar as they passed the popcorn back and forth between them. He spoke so quietly so that the rest of the boys couldn’t hear. “They don’t understand the importance of family.”

D’ar nodded, but wasn’t ready to forgive the others yet. “Thanks for making them stop, I appreciate it.”

Tariq looked over at Mr. Feltner, and seeing that the House Father was immersed in his paperwork, took something out of his own back pocket. He handed it to D’ar, who saw it was a photo. It was of a girl, not too much younger that D’ar. The family resemblance made it clear who she was.

“Your sister?” He asked. When Tariq nodded, he looked at the picture again before handing it back. “She looks really smart.”

It was the right thing to say. A broad grin broke out across the teen’s face, making him seen both younger and less scary. “She’s smart as a whip. Started writing poetry before she was in first grade.” He stowed the picture in his pocket again. “She’s in foster care too, but we’re never placed with the same family. When I age out of this place, I’m going to get a job and an apartment. Then Samara can come live with me and we can be a family again.”

“That sounds nice,” D’ar said and was sincere about it. He still didn’t know how he felt about having a brother, but seeing how Tariq was eager to take care of his younger sibling, when he wasn’t an adult yet himself, helped a little bit.

The other teens didn’t dare tell Tariq to be quiet, but D’ar could tell by the glares coming their way, that they wanted to. He settled back into the couch, more relaxed than he had been before. It had been a very long day, first with school, then the inspection and Emily going wild, then finding out he had a brother before being dumped in a group home. D’ar found himself having a hard time keeping his eyes open. He hadn’t seen a modern movie in months, but given the excitement of his day, it wasn’t enough to keep him awake.

“Charles?” A quiet voice spoke near him and it took D’ar a minute to realize that it wasn’t very familiar. He opened his eyes to see Mr. Feltner standing next to him – and the rest of the living room was empty.

“Ann said you’d had a rough day, I guess she wasn’t kidding,” Mr. Feltner smiled at him. “You slept through most of a very loud movie.”

D’ar blushed at having been caught falling asleep on the couch like a little kid. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. We didn’t have the heart to wake you.” By ‘we,’ D’ar figured Mr. Feltner meant him and his wife. From what D’ar had seen, the either kids, except maybe Tariq, would have had fun startling him awake. “The other boys are upstairs already, lights out isn’t until 10, but we feel a quiet hour beforehand works best. I know you’re tired, but I think it’s a good idea for you to take a shower tonight. That way, you can sleep later in the morning and hopefully won’t get so hungry.”

D’ar stifled a groan when he remembered. No breakfast because of the doctor’s visit. “Okay.”

He followed Mr. Feltner up the stairs and got his stuff out of his room. The House Father was waiting outside the bathroom. “The motion sensors aren’t on for the hallway yet, but the bathroom has a lock, so no one will disturb you. In the morning, in might be a different story. Since there are more of the older kids and you’re the only younger one on this side, we let them use this bathroom too when they’re getting ready for school. Just stay in your room and out of their way. School may not be anybody’s favorite activity, but you couldn’t tell it by the chaos around here in the morning.”

“Got it,” D’ar assured him, hoping the man wouldn’t follow him into the bathroom. He didn’t and D’ar had no reason to hide the joyful smile that broke out on his face when he turned the lock on the door with a resounding click.

He was too fresh from the Duras’ household to linger over a shower, so D’ar was in and out quickly. He relished having a fresh towel and hung it neatly over the shower pole when he was done, not knowing what else to do with it. Donning his pajamas wasn’t a lot of fun, since they were a couple of inches short in both the arms and legs. At least they were a nice, safe plain blue. Unlike the hated backpack, plain pajamas had been cheaper than anything with a character on it. Even so, D’ar wasn’t eager for any of the other kids to see him in something that fit so badly and have the opportunity to tease.

Carefully, D’ar opened the bathroom door and took a quick look down the hall in each direction. It was clear and he left the steamy bathroom to make his way back to his assigned room. He was almost there when he heard a voice.

“Wow, you’re a quick one.”

It was Mrs. Feltner, but she was smiling at him as she came out of her own bedroom. D’ar had been as quiet as he could, but she must have been listening for him.

“My foster mother,” D’ar was quick to correct himself. “My former foster mother, she didn’t approve of long showers.”

“It’s just as well, with half a dozen teenagers living her, plus me, you and my husband, we go through hot water pretty quickly,” Mrs. Feltner was kind as she joined him, making it clear that she was going into the bedroom with him. “I know that my husband already went over some things with you, but I just want to make sure you know how things are handled here overnight, okay?”

“Okay.” D’ar went into the room and put his duffle on the small desk that positioned by the window. There wasn’t much room for anything else but it, a twin-sized bed and a skinny chest of drawers.

“First of all, I want to assure you that we don’t lock you in a night, this isn’t a prison,” Mrs. Feltner still had a pleasant look on her face, but her voice was a lot more serious. “However, we do have a history of kids staying in the house that don’t want to be here or at any foster home, so we do take steps to make sure everyone stays put – where they’re safe. Okay?”

“Okay.” There wasn’t much else that D’ar could say to that.

“So, no lock on your door, but that white thing there? That’s an alarm. Once I set it from the outside, it’ll shriek if the door opens. You’ve got a toilet in here if you need to go to the bathroom and a sink if you get thirsty. Still, if you feel sick, or get scared, or have any sort of emergency whatsoever, feel free to leave your room – just know that Mr. Feltner and I will hear it and be here in a jiffy.”

“For the same reason, there’s also a sensor on the window and, once lights out happens, there’ll be a motion detector in each hallway,” she continued. “You guys need your rest and we need to keep everyone safe, so it’s really important for everyone to stay in their own rooms at night. Make sense?”

“Yes, ma’am,” D’ar nodded. Frankly, he was a little freaked out about it, but in a way it also made him feel better to know that the other boys couldn’t sneak up on him.

“The last thing is the curtains, you’ll want to keep the closed,” Mrs. Feltner put action to her words and pulled the draperies together. “Not just so you can sleep a little late in the morning, but because we keep the outside lights on all night. It doesn’t make us popular with the neighbors, but it’s another deterrent for kids who think they can sneak out – or in – when they’re supposed to be in bed.”

Mrs. Feltner turned to leave and D’ar was relieved she didn’t try to tuck him or anything. “All right, get some sleep. Hopefully the others won’t wake you up getting ready in the morning, but I wouldn’t hold my breath, even with two bedrooms between you and the bathroom. In any case, I’ll let you know about twenty minutes before your social worker is supposed to arrive, so you have plenty of time to get ready. Any questions? No? Okay, then, good night.”

“Good night,” D’ar waited a few moments and then walked as quietly as he could to the door. As he suspected, there wasn’t a lock on the inside as there was with the bathroom, but at least it was a door. He ran his hands over the wood almost reverently, almost having forgotten what it was like to have that basic privacy.

A yawn made him realize again how tired he was. D’ar turned the light off and navigated the dark room until he reached the bed. The room’s small size came in handy, since it didn’t take long and there was also nothing to trip over. It felt like he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Unfortunately, he didn’t stay that way for long.

D’ar woke with the image with a dripping knife haunting his dreams. He sat straight up in bed, breathing almost hard enough to hyperventilate and making strangled whimpering noises in the back of his throat. D’ar picked up his pillow with shaking hands and hid his face into it. The House Parents were two bedrooms and a bathroom away, but he still didn’t want to wake them.

He got his breathing under control after a few minutes, but didn’t bother trying to go back to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, D’ar saw the image of a knife. Finally, he got out of bed and padded over to the desk. He opened the drapes and found that Mrs. Feltner was right, there was a lot of light that came in from the outside. It was enough to dig through his duffle and find his math notebook. He never needed to take many notes in math, so the back of the book was full of drawings. D’ar grabbed a pencil too and carefully pulled the chair out. He tried to be as quiet as possible because he didn’t want the Feltners to know that he was awake.

It was hard to draw something while you tried hard not to look at it too much, but that’s what D’ar did. If he thought too much about the image of the knife he was sketching, he started to get panicked again and that wouldn’t help anything. After several minutes, his hand stopped moving and he forced himself to look directly at what he’d drawn.

It was the knife that had killed his father. D’ar could still see the red blood dripping slowly off its metal surface, could almost hear his father’s groaning softly in the background.

D’ar flew out of his chair and into the powder room, barely getting there in time to throw up into the toilet. When he’d finished retching, he flushed and then ran some cold water in the sink, splashing his face. When the toilet finished running, he turned the water off and listened carefully. He couldn’t hear any movement in the hallway, so he’d been successful in not waking anyone.

It wasn’t fair that D’ar could remember details about his father’s death while he was asleep, but never while he was awake. Not that he liked remembering any of it all, but with the police not solving the case, D’ar felt a responsibility to offer some sort of information that might help. The dream he’d just had was the first time where a specific image lingered after he woke up long enough to do anything about it. 

Potentially helpful or not, D’ar couldn’t bear to look at the picture again. Still shaking, he went back to the desk and turned the page without looking his drawing. With a blank page now in front of him, he sat down and took up his pencil. This time, he made a conscious decision to draw something pleasant. His hand started moving and soon he was making a sketch of his horse, Buttercup. He hadn’t seen her since his father died; for all he knew, Aunt Catherine had sold her. D’ar only hoped that whoever owned her now was taking good care of her. She’d been a good friend.

Yawning by the time the drawing of Buttercup was done, D’ar closed the notebook and stowed it and the pencil away. He remembered to close the curtains before heading back to bed. According the clock it was 4 o’clock in the morning and he’d been up for a couple of hours. It was a good thing that Mrs. Feltner said he could sleep late.

D’ar didn’t think he’d be able to sleep again, or if he did, that it would be plagued by bad dreams again. Neither was the case. D’ar fell asleep quickly and it seemed as if just a few minutes had passed before Mrs. Feltner was calling him from the doorway.

“Charles, it’s after 8 o’clock, you have about twenty minutes to get ready before Mrs. Royalton’s here.”

“Okay,” D’ar sat up and yawned, the size of it making Mrs. Feltner laugh.

“I guess you did get tired yesterday,” she teased him. “Now don’t fall asleep again, you need to get dressed and tidy up before your social worker arrives.”

D’ar through back the covers to show that he knew she meant business. “Yes, ma’am.”

He didn’t have a lot of clothes to choose from, so it didn’t take D’ar long to get dressed. He realized at that moment that he’d forgotten to take a toothbrush from his last foster home. There was a tube of toothpaste in the powder room, so he put some on his finger and ran that across his teeth. Getting his hair to lay flat was a little more problematic, it’d still been wet the night before when he’d gone to bed. Finally, D’ar ended up wetting it down again and that did the trick.

After stuffing his pajamas into his bag D’ar took a quick look around the room. He’ occupied it for such a short time, though, that he had nothing else to pack. He took a moment to make the bed and, after grabbing his bag, made it downstairs with a few minutes to spare.

The house was oddly quiet; the other residents must have left for school already. D’ar would have liked to say goodbye to Tariq, but wasn’t sorry to miss the others. In fact, only Mrs. Feltner was around. When D’ar came downstairs, she was sitting in the living room, sipping at a cup of coffee.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you any breakfast,” the woman said. “But you’re supposed to be fasting.”

“That’s all right,” D’ar shrugged. He was hungry, but there were times in the past where he’d been hungrier.

“I’m going to put this in the kitchen. Here, maybe there’s something on television for you while we wait for Mrs. Royalton,” Mrs. Feltner handed him the remote and left the room.

D’ar listlessly flipped through channels, but was really too restless to settle on anything. Mrs. Feltner came out of the kitchen, but immediately headed towards the stairs.

“Please let me know if you see Mrs. Royalton pull up.” Mrs. Feltner handed him a glass of water. “I know it’s not a lot, but maybe this will fill your stomach up enough so you don’t feel quite so hungry.”

“Thank you.” D’ar quickly downed the water. It didn’t help with the hunger much, but at least it was something.

Mrs. Feltner was still upstairs when D’ar heard a car pull up. He got up and looked out the window, verifying that it was the same car from yesterday. “Mrs. Feltner, she’s here.”

D’ar turned the television off and stood impatiently at the foot of the stairs. Thankfully Mrs. Feltner came back down right as the doorbell rang. D’ar was right behind her as she opened the door, revealing a smiling Mrs. Royalton.

“Rachel, Charles, good morning.”

“Hi,” D’ar greeted her back, smiling too.

“Well, I don’t have to ask if you had a good night, Charles, I can tell from your face,” the social worker said. “I take it there were no problems, Rachel?”

Mrs. Feltner ruffled D’ar’s hair. He didn’t like her doing it anymore than he had with her husband. “The only problem I can see is that we probably won’t get to keep him. Your Charles is a perfect little gentleman. He says ‘thank you’ and ‘ma’am,’ he goes to bed without argument and he even kept the towel off the floor and made his bed.”

“See, Charles,” Mrs. Royalton teased gently, even though D’ar was already blushing from what the House Mother had said. “I’m not the only one who thinks you’re a great kid.”

“That, you most definitely are,” Mrs. Feltner agreed. “I hope you find a permanent home, but you’re always welcome here, Charles. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Thanks for everything,” Charles grabbed his bag, ready to go despite the compliments. “And the popcorn too.”

The two women laughed at his enthusiasm.

“Hold on just a moment, Charles, are you sure you have everything?” Mrs. Royalton directed the question to D’ar, but she was looking at Mrs. Feltner.

“Yes, he sure does,” the House Mother confirmed. “I took a walk through the room, everything’s accounted for.”

“All right, thank you, Rachel,” Mrs. Royalton briefly shook the other woman’s hand. “Come on, Charles, we have an appointment to keep and the faster we get it over with, the quicker you can have breakfast.”

They walked out to the car, where D’ar put his bag in the trunk again. He waved at Mrs. Feltner as they drove away, in a much better mood leaving the group home than he had been when he’d arrived.

“So, it wasn’t so bad, huh?” Mrs. Royalton prompted. “Popcorn?”

“We watched a movie and I fell asleep on the couch,” D’ar explained. “But at least I got popcorn first.”

“And the other kids were okay?” The social worker questioned. “It wasn’t as scary as you thought?”

“There were a lot of sensors and alarms and that was kind of weird,” D’ar admitted. ‘The other kids were older and weren’t real thrilled with a little kid like me.”

Mrs. Royalton gave him a skeptical look. “None of them were nice?”

D’ar wasn’t about to tell her about the incident with his mom’s picture, he wasn’t a tattletale. Still, there was something he could talk about. “There was one kid, Tariq. His sister’s in a different foster home and when he gets old enough, he’s going to get an apartment and they’re going to live as a family again.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Royalton’s smile was just a little smug. “So, your new friend is an older brother who wants to take care of a sibling? Fancy that.”

“Yeah.” That was as close as D’ar was willing to admit that she was right, about Tariq wanting to take of his sister, that was. Even though Tariq had helped him out, D’ar wouldn’t exactly call them friends. “We’re going to see Dr. Archie now?”

Dr. Archibald had been D’ar’s doctor since entering the foster care system. In a way, he was the most stable presence in D’ar’s life. Foster homes had changed, and even D’ar’s original social worker had retired, but Dr. Archie stayed the same. D’ar had been surprised the night before when Mrs. Royalton said he’d been seeing the doctor today, but he wasn’t worried or unhappy about it. Dr. Archie was always nice to him. 

“Yes, we have a 9 o’clock appointment, but you have to stop at the lab first and give a couple of samples.” Mrs. Royalton explained. “Did you drink any water this morning?”

D’ar nodded, then remembered that Mrs. Royalton was driving and wasn’t looking at him at the moment. “Yes, Mrs. Feltner gave me a glass this morning.”

“Good.” There was a bottle of water sitting in the cup holder and she handed it to D’ar. “You might want to drink this too.”

Traffic was more intense than it had been the night before and there wasn’t much conversation. D’ar was okay with that; yesterday had involved more talking than he’d done in a long time. He needed some space to contemplate all he’d been told and all the possible things that might happen because of that information.

Mrs. Royalton seemed to get more nervous the closer they got to the clinic and by the time she parked the car, she had a tightness to her mouth that suggested that she wasn’t happy. “Charles, this visit with Dr. Archibald is going to be a little different than the ones you’ve had before.”

“In what way?” D’ar asked. “Do I have to get a shot or something?” Not that he was a little kid and cried when a shot was involved, but it wasn’t his favorite thing to do either.

“No, no shot,” Mrs. Royalton assured him. “But you’ll need to give a urine sample to make sure no drugs are in your system – and yes, I believe you when you told me last night that you hadn’t taken any, but it’s a standard thing we have to do when drugs are found in a foster home.”

D’ar sighed. All the water that’d been pushed on him now made sense. “Okay. And blood too?”

Mrs. Royalton smiled in sympathy. “Yes, blood too.”

When they got to the clinic, they went to the lab first and D’ar squirmed a little while they took his blood. He wasn’t afraid of the needle or anything, but that water he’d drunk was beginning to make itself known. It was almost a relief when he was given the container and pointed towards the specially set up bathroom. He finished quickly and washed his hands before joining Mrs. Royalton in the waiting room.

“All set?” She asked. When D’ar nodded, she handed him a granola bar. “This is so you don’t famish while you see Dr. Archibald. Don’t worry, I promise a full breakfast when you’re done.”

D’ar appreciated that she’d gotten him a chewy granola bar than a traditional one; they were a lot less dry. Even so, he was wishing he had some of that water back before he was finished. They went to another waiting room and Mrs. Royalton checked him in again. It was a pediatric clinic, so there was a television on, but it played cartoons geared towards the little kids. D’ar sighed and resigned himself to a boring wait. Luckily for him, though, he didn’t have to wait long. Mrs. Royalton had barely sat down beside him when a nurse came out and called his name.

“Charles Castelmore?”

D’ar got up and looked at Mrs. Royalton, wondering if she was coming in with him, although he hadn’t really needed that the last year or so. The social worker just shook her head. “I’m not going in today. I have a phone call to make, so if you need me, I’ll be right out in the hallway, all right?”

“Okay.”

The nurse led D’ar back into the clinic area itself. She had him take his shoes off and congratulated him for growing half an inch in the short time since he’d been in last, but was very quiet when he stepped on the scale. She was very patient with him when he tied his shoes carefully; new shoes were still a wonder and he wasn’t going to damage them by toeing them on or off.

When they got to the exam room, the nurse did the other usual things. His temperature was taken, along with his blood pressure and pulse, and he was asked if there were any changes the doctor should know about. That last question was asked with a bit more interest than anything else she’d said, but D’ar just shrugged and said no. She entered everything he’d told her into the computer on the desk and D’ar tried not to fidget too much while she typed. It seemed to take forever before she finished.

“Okay, sweetie, I need you to take off your regular clothes and put on this gown,” the nurse handed him one of those garments that tied. “Everything has to come off except your socks. Wouldn’t want your feet to get cold.”

D’ar gulped. This was new. “Everything?”

She smiled at him. “Everything, but that’s what the gown’s for, so you’ll be covered, don’t worry. The ties are on the side, see?” She held up the gown so he’d understand how it went on and D’ar nodded. He could figure it out. He didn’t like it, but he could get it on. “Once you’re changed, hop up onto the bed. That should be pretty easy for a boy getting as tall as you are.”

Once she was safely gone, D’ar hurried to obey. He wasn’t thrilled about the gown, but he was even less thrilled with the idea of someone coming in while he changed. He made sure to fold his clothes neatly and put them on the chair. He liked the doctor and didn’t want Dr. Archie to think he was a slob.

Tasks done, D’ar climbed up onto the exam table and waited. He swung is feet as he did, trying not to look as bored as he felt. Dr. Archie arrived a few minutes later. As usual, the short doctor came in with a big smile and D’ar couldn’t help but return it. He liked Dr. Archie. The doctor was fun, but kind and always listened to whatever D’ar had to say.

“Hey there, beanpole, you’re gonna be taller than me before long,” Dr. Archie’s smile looked a little forced, but maybe he’d just had a busy day. “Didn’t I just see you yesterday?”

“No, it was a couple of months ago,” D’ar reminded him, although he knew very well that the doctor hadn’t forgotten. It was just Dr. Archie’s way of teasing.

“That’s right, that’s right,” the doctor sat on the stool. “I understand you’ve had a rough couple of days.”

The sympathy in his voice made D’ar tear up. “I’m okay.”

Dr. Archie patted his knee. “I’m sure you are, you’re one tough kid. Now, let’s just see how tough.”

Swiveling in his chair, Dr. Archie turned to the computer console and started pushing keys. “Your lab results aren’t back yet, of course, but hey, you grew another half inch” The doctor grew quiet for a moment. “But looks like you lost some weight. You wanna tell me about that?”

D’ar shrugged. “Nothing to tell, I didn’t try to lose any.”

There was a knock on the door and after Dr. Archie called that it was okay to come in, a woman stepped inside. She had a black suit on and was carrying a briefcase. D’ar sighed. That was almost a uniform for the CPS people. Even Mrs. Royalton wore a suit all the time, but at least hers were in nicer colors. D’ar frowned when he thought of his social worker, if someone from CPS was going to be at the appointment, why wasn’t it Mrs. Royalton?

“Ms. Edwards, I presume?” Dr. Archie asked.

“Yes, sorry I’m late,” the woman shook his hand and then turned to D’ar. “And you must be Charles Castelmore.”

D’ar wrapped his arms around himself. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Charles, what did Mrs. Royalton tell you about today’s appointment?” Dr. Archie asked.

“Just that I needed to be tested to make sure that I hadn’t taken any of Emily’s drugs,” D’ar answered. He looked from Dr. Archie to the new woman and back again. This wasn’t making any sense.

“That’s part of what we’re doing today,” Dr. Archie confirmed. “But there’s more to it too and Mrs. Royalton was instructed not to warn you about that.”

“Why?” D’ar asked in a hoarse whisper.

It was the woman, Ms. Edwards, who answered. “We have some questions to ask you and they might be a little upsetting. We didn’t want you to worry ahead of time.”

“Can she come in now?” D’ar asked. Like she said, they maybe hadn’t wanted him to worry before, but he was definitely worried now.

“Sorry, buddy, it’s just us,” Dr. Archie truly did seem to feel bad about that. “But I’ll be here the whole time, okay?”

D’ar took a deep breath. He’d actually known Dr. Archie longer than Mrs. Royalton, but his social worker had done a lot in the last day to show she’d go to great lengths to protect him. He really, really wanted her in the room at the moment, but was determined not to be a baby about it.

“Okay,” he looked only at Dr. Archie. “Am I in trouble?”

“No,” Dr. Archie was very firm when he answered. “You’re not in any trouble at all. In fact, we need your help.”

That was a little surprising. “My help? With what?”

“We need you to answer our questions, especially about Mr. and Mrs. Duras,” Mrs. Edwards entered the conversation again. “Can you do that?”

D’ar looked at Dr. Archie first and when the doctor nodded, answered the CPS worker. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Charles and I were just discussing how he’s lost weight since the last time he was in,” Dr. Archie turned back to D’ar. “Have you had any issues with your stomach? Stomach aches, problems going to the bathroom or the opposite, going too much?”

“No,” D’ar concentrated on Dr. Archie and tried to ignore the CPS lady.

“All right, let’s talk about what you ate when you lived with your last foster family,” Dr. Archie continued.

“Was it Mr. or Mrs. Duras that saw to feeding you?” Ms. Edwards interjected. “Who usually took care of meals?”

“Mrs. Duras,” that was an easy question. “Mr. Duras hardly ever got out of his recliner in the living room.”

“Okay, what was a typical breakfast like?” Dr. Archie gave Ms. Edwards a stern look and she settled back and let him continue with the questions.

D’ar shrugged. “Usually toast or cereal. Sometimes if it was really cold outside, we had oatmeal.” Normally D’ar liked oatmeal, but Mrs. Duras didn’t let them put any brown sugar or any other extras into it.

Dr. Archie nodded. “And for lunch?”

“At school, we were on the lunch program, so whatever the school had.” It had been embarrassing that the other kids could tell that D’ar was on a government program, but lunch was not something he’d be willing to pass up. Mrs. Duras counted on them getting a full lunch and often had a light dinner. “On the weekend, it’d be like a bologna or ham sandwich and maybe a piece of fruit.”

“And I bet you know what I’m going to ask about next – what about supper?”

“It wasn’t always the same. Meatloaf, casseroles, Hamburger Helper, that kind of stuff.”

“Any snacks?” Dr. Archie asked and D’ar just shook his head. “What did she give you to drink?”

“Milk,” he answered promptly. “She used a measuring cup to make sure we all got the right amount.”

“And what was the right amount?” Dr. Archie asked. His voice was still friendly, but his smile was a little forced.

D’ar shrugged. “It was always one measuring cup.”

“Hmmm,” Dr. Archie didn’t look overly pleased with that answer and D’ar tightened his arms around himself. “Did you ever feel hungry, even after you ate?”

“Sometimes, I’d get punished with smaller portions,” D’ar explained. “Mostly when Emily was around. Then I was really hungry. Most of the time, though, I wasn’t hungry after a meal, even if it felt like it wasn’t quite enough either.”

“Okay, thanks for all of the details, Charles,” Dr. Archie’s smile was warmer again. “That’s a big help.” His expression grew serious right after, though. “Now I need to ask you some questions about Mr. Duras.”

“Mr. Duras?” D’ar frowned. “He sat in his chair all the time.”

Mrs. Edwards spoke up. “You told Officer Li yesterday that he watched you all the time and was creepy.”

D’ar shivered, just thinking of those eyes on him. “He did and it was, but he couldn’t move very well.”

“Charles, did he ever say anything that made you comfortable or was it just the watching?” Dr. Archie asked.

“Just the watching,” D’ar quickly replied. “He hardly ever said anything either. The most I heard him talk was yesterday, when Mrs. Royalton and the other social worker were there.”

Dr. Archie’s voice got even more serious. “Did he ever try to touch you?”

D’ar shook his head. Gross. “No and if he had, I could have gotten away real easy.”

“If he would have been able to move, would you have been afraid of him then?” Dr. Archie’s voice was very quiet.

Just the thought Mr. Duras being able to get around the house gave D’ar goosebumps. “Yes,” he whispered.

“How about the girls?” Mrs. Edwards asked. “I understand their special chore was to read to Mr. Duras. Did they sit on his lap?”

“No, his legs hurt too much for that,” D’ar answered. “They always shared Mrs. Duras’ chair, the recliner next to his.”

“And he never tried to touch them?”

D’ar shook his head. He’d been taught about bad touch in a number of schools, but thankfully had never experienced it, not even with Mr. Duras.

“Charles, are you all right?” Dr. Archie asked. “You went a little pale, do you need a glass of water or something?”

“No,” D’ar squirmed on the table. “I’d really like to get dressed, though.”

Dr. Archie sighed. “I bet you would. Just a few more questions and then when can get on with the actual exam part, okay?”

“Okay.” It wasn’t okay, really, but D’ar liked Dr. Archie too much to complain.

“I heard that Mrs. Duras deliberately came into the bathroom while you were in the shower,” Dr. Archie said.

It wasn’t a question, but D’ar acted as though it was. “Yeah. I was in the shower too long and she came in to tell me not to use all the hot water.”

“And did she look at you while she was in there?”

D’ar thought about it for a moment, even though the memory was an embarrassing one. “No, not really. She pulled the curtain aside, but her head was kinda turned like this.” He demonstrated.

“So she came in to warn you that you were taking too long and not to ogle you, got it,” Dr. Archie said. “I also heard that you didn’t have a bedroom door. Did Mrs. Duras use that to watch you?”

“Yeah, but not in a creepy way like Mr. Duras,” D’ar blushed and glanced at Ms. Edwards, wishing that she wasn’t in the room. “She said boys couldn’t have doors because if we had too much privacy, we’d do nasty things. But I never did, no matter how many times she tried to catch me. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Dr. Archie soothed, although D’ar could tell that he was angry too – at Mrs. Duras, D’ar hoped. “You’re a great kid, Charles, and boys deserve privacy every much as girls do. So you didn’t feel Mrs. Duras was creepy when she checked on you?”

D’ar shook his head, still a little angry at the way he’d been treated, but trying to be honest about why he was upset. “No just mad that she kept trying to catch me doing something wrong.”

Dr. Archie looked at Ms. Edwards, who gave a slight nod. With that, Dr. Archie turned back to D’ar. “Okay, that concludes the question portion of the exam. Now we’re going to do some of the more usual stuff.”

The routine of the next few minutes let D’ar relax a little. Dr. Archie looked into his ears and listened to his chest. He also hit D’ar’s knees with the rubber mallet and made a show of having to move out of the way of getting kicked. As usual, D’ar gagged a little when the tongue depressor was put in his mouth, but at least it wasn’t as bad as getting tested for strep throat.

Finally, though, all the usual stuff was done. D’ar was looking forward to being finished, but then Dr. Archie asked him to lie down on the table.

“But first, Ms. Edwards, I want you to come up by Charles’ head, that way he won’t have to worry about his gown showing anything he doesn’t want to,” Dr. Archie made it sound like a suggestion, but it wasn’t really. To D’ar’s relief, though, she did as she was asked without any complaint.

Dr. Archie pressed various areas on D’ar’s stomach, asking each time if it hurt. It never did. He also pressed a little lower, though, and that made D’ar uncomfortable and he squirmed a little.

“Does that hurt?” Dr. Archie asked, the expression in his eyes serious.

“No, just feels weird.” D’ar stated. “I don’t like it.”

“Okay, then, I’ll stop,” Dr. Archie smiled reassuringly, so D’ar knew he wasn’t in trouble. “Come on, let’s sit you up.”

“Everything looks good except for one thing, Charles,” Dr. Archie told D’ar after he was sitting again. “You’re way too skinny.”

D’ar shrugged. “I’ve always been skinny, you said it was just normal for me.

“Some people are just naturally lean,” Dr. Archie agreed. “I’ve been your doctor for a couple of years now and you’ve always been in the 30th percentile – that means that 70% of kids that are your age and height weigh more than you. As long as that was steady, there was no cause for concern, because like I told you before, that’s normal for you. But you’ve lost some weight, kiddo, and you didn’t have any you could afford to lose. Now you’re in the 10th percentile and that’s quite a drop.”

“But I’m not sick,” D’ar stated, not quite making it a question.

“You don’t appear to be, but the blood work will tell us for sure.” Dr. Archie patted him on the shoulder. “But that’s why we were asking all the questions about Mrs. Duras and what you ate when you lived at her house. When we finish up here, I’m going to give your social worker some materials about nutrition that she can share with the next people you stay with. You need to gain some weight, but in a safe way.”

Ms. Edward gathered up her things and stood. “Thank you for answering all of our questions, Charles, I’m sorry if any of this made you uncomfortable, but it was truly necessary.” She looked at Dr. Archie. “I’ll wait in your office, Dr. Archibald, and we can go over the results when you’re done.”

“I’ll be right there,” Dr. Archie barely looked at the CPS woman as she left, but gave D’ar all of his attention as soon as she was out the door. “You were very brave today, Charles.”

D’ar wasn’t sure what the fuss was about. “I just answered some questions.”

“It was more than that, buddy,” Dr. Archie said. “I’m very proud of you.”

He felt his face flush and D’ar ducked his head. He’d gotten more praise in the last day than he’d had in the last few months. Maybe since his dad died. 

“Thankfully, that’s all the unpleasantness I have to put you through today,” Dr. Archie patted him on the shoulder. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll send Mrs. Royalton in after we’ve had a chance to talk. I certainly hope that our next visit will be a lot less stressful.”

Dr. Archie turned to the leave the room and D’ar found himself calling the man back. “Will there be another visit?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Royalton said they found out I have a brother and I might go live with him,” D’ar explained. “If I do, will I get to see you again?”

“I don’t know. That’ll be up to your brother, I suppose. But I do have patients that aren’t in foster care so it’s possible.” Seeing that D’ar wasn’t happy with that answer, he tried to offer some comfort. “From what I understand of these things, though, it’ll be a while before he has full custody, so I doubt you’ll b rid of me just yet.”

D’ar felt a wave of relief. Before he knew it, he’d hopped off the exam table and had wrapped his arms around Dr. Archie in a big hug. The doctor patted his back awkwardly. After a moment, D’ar let go and backed up. 

“That’s just in case,” D’ar told Dr. Archie. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Charles,” Dr. Archie smiled one last time. “Now you take care of yourself. I’m going to give Mrs. Royalton those ideas on how you can safely gain some weight. Next time I see you, I’d like there to be at least a couple more pounds on you, okay?”

“Okay,” D’ar promised.

After Dr. Archie left, D’ar quickly got dressed. He was very glad to be out of the gown and hoped it’d be a good long while before he had to put one of those on again. Unfortunately, getting changed quickly meant that he had some time to wait for Mrs. Royalton to come get him. There were a few magazines in a holder on the wall. Most of them were for little kids or for mothers, but there were a couple of sports ones. He started flipping through the pages, not caring that the magazine was almost a year old.

Eventually there was a soft knock on the door and, after D’ar said to come in, Mrs. Royalton popped her head through. “Charles, are you ready to go?”

“Yes” D’ar all but jumped up from the chair and Mrs. Royalton smiled at his eagerness.

“Hungry?” When he nodded, she gestured for him to follow her. “Come on, let’s get you fed.”

They didn’t talk until they got in the car. Once both of them were in and belted, though, Mrs. Royalton gripped the steering wheel tightly, even though she hadn’t started the car yet. She also started talking to D’ar without looking at him.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t warn you what today’s appointment would be like,” she apologized to him. “I really wish I could have.”

“It’s okay,” D’ar told her. “Dr. Archie explained that you would have gotten in trouble if you had.”

“Maybe I should have anyway,” Mrs. Royalton finally turned to look at him. “Some things are worth getting into trouble for and you shouldn’t have been surprised like that.”

D’ar thought about it for a minute and decided he’d try to get some information while his social worker was in a talking mood. “You said I’m talking to a judge today – will she be asking the same kind of questions?”

Unfortunately, Mrs. Royalton didn’t have a firm answer. “I don’t know. We have about an hour before you meet with Judge Fredrick and Dr. Archibald promised he’d send his report over right away, but she might not have time to read it.” She laughed a little. “Besides, Judge Fredrick is not exactly known for doing things the expected way. She has her own set of rules.”

“Will you be with me when I talk to her?” D’ar bit his lip, really hoping the answer would be yes.

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t,” Mrs. Royalton did look very sorry, but it was small consolation. “But Judge Fredrick is really nice.” She grinned impishly. “To kids anyway, she scares the dickens out of us grown-ups.”

D’ar sighed deeply. He was getting really tired of talking. “Okay.”

“It won’t be so bad, I promise,” Mrs. Royalton said as she started the car. “Judge Fredrick just wants to figure out what’s best for you, we all do.”

The first few minutes of their drive was both quiet and awkward. When the social worker finally broke the silence, though, D’ar wished that the conversation hadn’t started.

“Charles, can you do me a favor?” Mrs. Royalton’s voice sounded unusually hesitant when she spoke. D’ar glanced over at her and, sure enough, her hands were clenched on the steering wheel and there wasn’t even that much traffic. She must be nervous about what she wanted to ask.

“I’ll try,” D’ar said. He wasn’t sure what a kid like him could do to help out someone as competent as Mrs. Royalton.

“Thank you,” she glanced away from her driving just long enough to smile at him. “Have I told you that I’m pretty new at my job?”

“No,” D’ar answered. He’d never thought of it before, but it made sense. Compared to the other social workers he’d seen, Mrs. Royalton was young.

“I am. Very new, in fact. I haven’t even been a social worker for a year yet,” Mrs. Royalton said. “And what I’d like you to help me with has to do with what happened with Mr. and Mrs. Duras.”

D’ar slunk down in his seat as much as the safety belt would allow. He really didn’t want to talk about his former foster parents anymore; he’d done enough of that already during the last hour.

“Charles, I’m not blaming you for anything and nothing that happened in that house was your fault. Nothing at all.” Mrs. Royalton was very firm on that. “But you and I had met a couple of times in the CPS office while you lived at the Duras house and you never mentioned anything was wrong. Would you tell me why?” She was quick to repeat an earlier point. “Again, you didn’t do anything wrong and you’re not in trouble, I just want to know what mistake I made that caused you to feel that you couldn’t confide in me so I won’t do again. I’d hate to fail another child the way I did you.”

“Are you in trouble?” D’ar’s teeth worried at his lip. He didn’t like the idea of pretty Mrs. Royalton getting in trouble, especially because of him.

She smiled. “No, I’m not, I promise. I just want to learn from this. Was there a reason you didn’t tell me anything was wrong? Did Mr. or Mrs. Duras threaten you?”

“Not exactly,” D’ar admitted. “But even when it was just you and me in your office, I always knew Mrs. Duras was just a few feet away in the waiting room.”

Mrs. Royalton took a moment to think about what he’d said. “So you might have been more comfortable talking to me if Mrs. Duras waited farther away or maybe wasn’t in the same building at all?”

“Yeah,” D’ar answered. “Maybe.”

“Good to know,” Mrs. Royalton nodded. “Is there anything else?”

D’ar thought about it, knowing there was something he’d like to tell her, but not sure if it would make her mad or not. Even though most of her attention was on the road, Mrs. Royalton noticed his hesitation.

“It’s okay, Charles,” she told him. “You’re not going to get into trouble; I just want to know how I can do a better job to help you and the other kids I work with.”

Even with her encouraging words, it still took a couple of moments for D’ar to get up the nerve to say what he was thinking. “Before Mrs. Duras picked me up, when I first went to live with them, you were telling me about her and Mr. Duras. You told me a lot about how they were one of the best foster homes in the city and how lucky I was to be placed with them.”

“I see,” Mrs. Royalton caught on without him having to go into any more detail. “I talked them up so much that you didn’t think you should complain.”

D’ar shrugged. “I know better now.”

Mrs. Royalton took one hand off the wheel long enough to pat D’ar briefly on the hand. “And now so do I. I always want my kids to know that I’m placing them with a family that I think will be good for them, but no matter what, I need to remind them that they can always contact me if they think something wrong.” The smile she directed D’ar’s way looked genuine. “Thank you, Charles. I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you to tell me.”

“You’re welcome,” D’ar wasn’t sure if what he’d told her had helped, but at least she seemed to think so.

The rest of the ride was quiet, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Since Mrs. Royalton had promised breakfast, D’ar was a little surprised when they pulled up to the large office building that the CPS offices were locate in. 

“I’m sorry, we’ll have to make do with the cafeteria,” Mrs. Royalton apologized as they pulled into the parking garage. “Your appointment with Judge Fredrick is in hour and there isn’t time for a real restaurant.”

“I don’t mind, as long as they have food,” D’ar assured her. The granola bar hadn’t been enough to hold him all morning.

They made short work of parking and walking into the building. It was late enough that most of the people who used the cafeteria were at work.

“Get anything you want,” Mrs. Royalton got a tray too and explained when D’ar gave her a surprised look. “It didn’t seem fair for me to get to eat breakfast when you had to wait. I’m hungry too.”

D’ar was torn between getting eggs or pancakes, but Mrs. Royalton decided it for him by having him get both. When he gaped at her, she reminded him that the doctor wanted him to gain wait. For herself, Mrs. Royalton went a little lighter, with just eggs and toast. When it came time to pick out a drink, D’ar looked longingly at the soda dispenser, but sighed and reached for the milk.

The next few minutes were busy with paying for the meal, picking out a table and finally tucking into their food. D’ar almost groaned with happiness. He hadn’t had pancakes for almost as long as hamburgers because Mrs. Duras thought they were too sweet. Mrs. Royalton ate with a better appetite than she had the night before too, although she wasn’t inhaling her food with the speed that D’ar was. In fact, she had time for conversation, although she waited until D’ar was almost done eating before saying anything of importance.

“I spoke with your brother while you saw Dr. Archibald,” Mrs. Royalton told him.

D’ar swallowed hard and not because of the bite of his breakfast he’d just taken. “You did?”

“Yes,” the social worker took a sip of her coffee before continuing. “From the beginning he was eager to meet you and have you come live with him, but I’d told him it would be weeks or maybe even months before that would happen. The issues with your foster parents happened so quickly that I wanted to make sure he would be okay with you coming to live with him so much sooner than anticipated.”

“Was he mad?” D’ar asked in a whisper.

Mrs. Royalton smiled at him. “Yes, but not at you. In fact, I’m happy to report that he very much wants you to come live with him right away instead of going into another foster home. He’s agreed to meet with Judge Fredrick this afternoon. If she agrees, you could be living with your brother tonight.”

Despite everything, D’ar wasn’t sure what he felt about that, so distracted them both with a question. “Who was he mad at?”

“Me,” Mrs. Royalton answered.

“You? That’s not fair.” D’ar was offended on his social worker’s behalf.

“In a way it is,” Mrs. Royalton didn’t seem upset about his brother being angry with her. “I’m the one who put you in the Duras house. I promised him it was the safest place for you until we could transition you to live with him and that was totally wrong.”

“But you figured out that they were bad,” D’ar defended her. “That’s got to count for something.”

“I think he realizes that too, because he didn’t stay mad at me for long,” Mrs. Royalton assured D’ar. “And, don’t worry, he wasn’t just mad at me, either. He’s angry with the Durases and that you spent last night at a group home.” She smiled at him. “I think it’s safe to say that Olivier Athos is already acting like a protective older brother.”

“I suppose,” D’ar swished his last bite of pancake around on his plate, but didn’t eat it. 

Mrs. Royalton’s phone beeped and she glanced at it. “I hope you’re finished because we need to get moving. Judge Fredrick does not approve of being late.”

“Yeah, I’m done.” If D’ar had lost his appetite upon learning that his brother was mad, he felt even less like finishing the last bites of breakfast at hearing the judge he was going to have to talk to was persnickety. 

Mrs. Duras had been persnickety. 

After a quick stop in the bathroom – and being sent back in to get the last of the syrup off his hands – Mrs. Royalton ushered D’ar to a connected building. The hallways were full of people, each one in a rush to get their own business done. There wasn’t an opportunity to chat and D’ar was grateful. With the appointment nearing with the judge, he was wishing he hadn’t eaten so much breakfast.

After an elevator ride and moving through a couple more corridors, they reached the right office and another waiting room. This one was much smaller than the waiting room at the clinic. There was a single desk, where a young man was seated, and some chairs for visitors. Those were empty, so D’ar took on while Mrs. Royalton told the young man who they were. 

“Charles?” The young man called out to D’ar. “The judge is ready for you now.”

D’ar gulped and Mrs. Royalton smiled at him as he got up and approached. “Just be yourself, Charles.”

“Hey, I’m Scott,” the young man introduced himself as he ushered D’ar through the door behind his desk. D’ar didn’t even have time to look back at Mrs. Royalton. It was a small corridor with a number of offices spaced out along its length. “And your social worker is right, just be yourself. Despite her reputation, Judge Fredrick doesn’t bite.” He grinned at D’ar as he stopped at a particular door. “Kids, anyway. Adults are fair game.”

Scott’s friendliness and easy grin helped settle D’ar’s nerves a little. That was a good thing, because after Scott knocked and a female voice called them to come in, Scott opened the door and D’ar finally got to meet the woman who would be deciding his fate.

“Judge Fredrick, this is Charles Castelmore,” Scott introduced them. 

“Thank you, Scott,” a woman came towards D’ar slowly. “I’ll let you know if we need anything.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Scott turned to leave and, when his back was to the judge, gave D’ar a wink as he headed out the door.

“Charles, I’m pleased to meet you.”

D’ar looked over at the judge – and then up and up some more. Judge Fredrick was easily the tallest woman that D’ar had ever seen. In fact, she was taller than most men he’d ever known. She was African-American and had curly silver hair that seemed to float around her head a cloud. Her face was friendly enough, but she had an intimidating way about her, like one of the more strict teachers D’ar had at school.  
Still, her expression had openness to it too, something that the strict Mrs. Duras had always lacked.

“Hi,” D’ar responded.

The judge gestured to a leather chair and small sofa set up across from a large wooden desk. “Come in and take a seat, but first please shut the door behind you.”

D’ar did as he was asked and perched carefully on the edge of the sofa, the chair having already been taken by the judge herself. He looked around the room, noting the shelves full of large, impressive-looking books. There were some picture frames on the desk, but they were turned so they would be visible to whoever was sitting at the desk and all D’ar saw was the back of them. There was a clock on the shelf behind the desk, with a digital readout like a clock radio. Instead of the hour, however, it only read 457.

“The children who come in here usually have three questions, so let’s get those out of the way first,” the judge’s voice brought D’ar’s attention back to her. D’ar was relieved that she was seated and no longer loomed over him so much. “First of all, you’re not in trouble. That’s not true of all of the kids that I have a one-on-one chat with, but it’s certainly true of you. You’re not in any trouble at all. ”

Several people had told D’ar that already, but it was still a relief to hear it from the judge herself. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome,” the judge nodded and D’ar thought he saw a hint of approval in her face. He mentally thanked his parents for always insisting that he had good manners. “The second question children usually want to know is why I’m not wearing my robe.”

That one hadn’t actually occurred to D’ar yet, but as soon as she said it, he realized it was true. Judge Fredrick was wearing a bright blue dress and not the black robe he thought was typical for judges.

“That’s because we’re not in my courtroom,” the judge explained. “This is an informal chat and we don’t need a robe for that, right?”

“No, ma’am.”

“The third question that children usually want to know is how well I play basketball, because I’m so tall.” The judge leaned forward as though she were confiding a secret. “And I don’t know how to play at all. The basketball court was not the court I was thinking about when I went to school. All that running back and forth when I could be reading instead just wasn’t my idea of fun.”

D’ar smiled a little at the idea of this daunting woman playing basketball, black judge’s robe flapping wildly as she ran. That question certainly never would have occurred to him and he wondered if she were maybe teasing him.

“Ah, you do know how to smile,” the judge’s own smile changed her face, making her seem much less intimidating. “Let me make something very clear, Charles. When your case was assigned to me, my job became finding the best, safest place for you to live. In a way, I work for you. I’m your advocate, just like Mrs. Royalton is, although I’m sorry that I can’t be as hands-on as she is.”

The idea of the judge working for him was sillier than the thought of her playing basketball in her robe. D’ar didn’t smile, though. It wasn’t that kind of silly. His skepticism must have shown, however, because the judge grinned.

“I know you don’t believe me right now, Charles, and that’s okay,” the judge’s voice was soft. “I’ve been reading your file this morning and I know you’ve been through more heartache than most people see in a lifetime. I also know that, after all that’s happened to you that you have little reason to trust what most grown-ups have to tell you. I hope I can change that – and no, you don’t have to respond to that.”

D’ar nodded gratefully.

“What’s going to happen here is we’re going to have a nice talk, so I can get to know you better than what’s in your file.” The judge explained. “Before we get started, though, I want to warn you of something. There’s no right and wrong answers here, Charles, but I do want you to be truthful with me. I’ve been doing this job for a long time and I’ve developed something I call my hinky meter. Do you know what hinky means?”

“It means when something looks right, but it’s not.” D’ar said after a moment’s thought. “You can’t trust something that’s hinky.”

“That’s exactly it. I’m glad to see your file’s right, you’re a smart boy.” Judge Fredrick praised him. “What I’m saying is that I have a finely tuned hinky meter, which means that I know when someone is lying to me – and I do not like being lied to. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The judge’s first question was an unexpected one. “All right, what I’d like to know most at the moment is how you’re feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

The judge sighed. “Son, in the last 24 hours, you’ve seen a drug addict have a psychotic break, been removed from your foster home, found out you have a brother, been temporarily placed in a group home, and poked at by a doctor.” Judge Fredrick’s finger made a twitching motion and D’ar wondered if was her hinky meter at work. “And you expect me to believe that you’re fine?”

“Yes, ma’am.” D’ar didn’t back down from his statement, but did start to feel his eyes burn as tears gathered. When she’d listed out everything that happened in the last day, he started feeling overwhelmed.

Her eyes narrowed. “And that’s after seeing your father murdered, being neglected by a drug addicted uncle, and entering the foster care system.”

As the judge continued to list off each of the bad things that had happened, especially his father, D’ar’s eyes stopped merely burning and started overflowing. To his horror, he couldn’t stop and only sobbed harder.

“Ah, there we go,” the judge moved to the sofa and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Let it out, honey. No one here but me. You’re a brave boy, but you don’t have to be brave all the time. You’re not alone, Charles.”

The judge kept up a litany of soft words, one hand dropping to rub comforting circles on his back. D’ar didn’t know how long he cried, but eventually the sobs tapered off. As they did, the judge handed him a box of tissues.

“Feel better?” She asked him.

D’ar nodded. “Yes.” He dared a quick peek up at her. “Sorry, Judge Fredrick.”

The arm around his shoulder tightened and then let go. Sensing that he needed space, the judge moved back to her own seat. “Charles, after reading your file, I can tell you with perfect certainty that the absolute last person who needs to be sorry is you.”

“I meant for getting your dress wet.” There was a wet splotch where he’d ended up leaning against her.

She waved off his apology. “What’s a little water between friends?” She smiled at him. “And I hope we are friends, Charles, or at least will be. If you want, you can call me Judge Freddy.”

D’ar smiled at her and considered telling her that he preferred to be called D’ar, but as much as he liked the judge so far, he didn’t quite dare.

As though sensing his lingering suspicions, Judge Freddy reached over and patted his knee. “I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but Child Protective Services is meant to help the children that are placed into our care. We failed you, Charles, and more than once. I take that very personally.” Her lips thinned. “You see that clock behind the desk?”

He glanced over, although he was pretty sure what she meant. “The one that says 457? Is it broken?”

“No, that’s a countdown clock and it’s counting down to the day I retire,” the judge told him. “I’ll be on the job for another 457 days and I promise you that before I leave this office, you will have a forever home. I’m not sure at the moment if it’ll be with your brother or not, but I will see you safely settled before I step down.”

She certainly sounded like she meant what she said. “Do you think it’ll be with my brother?”

“I don’t know yet,” Judge Freddy told him. “What I’ve read of your brother looks promising, but I’m not one to trust such a big decision to only on what’s on paper. Your brother is going to sit on that very same couch and look me in the eye. Then I’ll decide.”

From the steely tone of her voice, D’ar almost felt sorry for his brother and he hadn’t even met him yet.

“But my conversation with him isn’t anything for you to worry about,” the judge said. “I’d like to get to know you a little better, more than what this file says. Can you tell me about your mom, what was she like?”

The next half hour or so was as unlike the experience with Dr. Archie as it was possible to be. The questions the doctor and Ms. Edwards had asked had been awkward and uncomfortable. Even if Dr. Archie had been as nice about it as he could, it was an interrogation. Judge Freddy’s were more like a conversation. D’ar found himself telling her what it had been like in Lupiac and living with his parents. He told her all about the kinds of things they did together, what kind of sports he enjoyed playing, who has friends had been, and what the name of his favorite horse was.

After that, they chatted about the various foster homes he’d been in, with the exception of Mr. and Mrs. Duras. They also didn’t talk about his uncle. Everything else was fair game. To his surprise, D’ar realized that he didn’t mind living in the city that much, although he did miss green space and especially missed having horses around. It wasn’t the city itself that he disliked; it was the feeling of not having a place in it.

“So let me see if I have this right,” the judged finally summed up what they’d been talking about. “You enjoy horses and sports and being active, but school is fun too. At least, it is when you’re not being bullied. You like to draw, but reading isn’t your favorite thing to do. You’re used to being an only child, but you enjoy having friends and also some of your foster siblings, so the idea of a brother is appealing. Whether it’s a house or apartment isn’t important to you or what part of the city it’s located in. More than anything else, you just want to live in a home where you know you’re wanted, loved and safe. Is that about right?”

D’ar was amazed at how much information she’d gotten from him and how accurate it was. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” the judge patted his hand and stood up. D’ar was quick to follow, but she waved him back. “Just stay there a moment while I get something.” She moved to her desk and opened a drawer, getting out a small white card. She took up a pen and wrote something on it before coming back and sitting down. 

“Now, I’m going to do something that’s very rare for me. I’m giving you my private cell phone number.” She handed the card to him. “I’d like for you to keep this, but make sure you memorize the number, just in case. With both Ms. Royalton and I keeping an eagle eye on you, I don’t think anything more bad things will happen to you, but I’m also a firm believer in ‘hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.’ If you ever find yourself in trouble, I want you know you can call me.”

Looking at the card, D’ar could see that it Judge Freddy’s name and office information on it, with another phone number written in pen. That must be the personal number she mentioned.

“That’s for big trouble and emergencies, not for things like losing television privileges because you didn’t do your homework,” Judge Freddy warned.

“For when something hinky is happening,” D’ar said. “Like with Mr. and Mrs. Duras.”

The judge smiled at him. “That’s exactly right.” She looked at her watch and D’ar knew the appointment was almost over.

“Judge Freddy?” D’ar asked, comfortable enough with her to ask a question. “What happens next? Will I go live with my brother?”

She eyed him and D’ar tried not to squirm. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know,” he was careful to be as honest as possible. “I want to want to, if that makes sense, but I’m scared too.”

“Do you think living in another foster home for a couple of months while you thought about it would help?”

D’ar considered, but shook his head. “I wouldn’t know them either, it’d be like having to get to know two different homes instead of just one.”

Judge Freddy looked at him very seriously. “I’ll keep that in mind. To answer your question, though, what happens next is that I’ll keep reviewing the information, including the report from Dr. Archibald, when it arrives. I’ll talk to your brother this afternoon. If I think he can provide you a good home – and only if I think it will be a good home for you – I’ll approve you living with him on a trial basis. We’ll go from there.”

“Okay.”

“Come on, let’s get you back to Ms. Royalton.” 

The judge stood up and D’ar was reminded again of how tall she was. He felt like Kindergarten kid compared to her as she walked him back to the waiting room herself. She kept one hand on D’ar’s shoulder as they entered the waiting room and from the expressions on both Mrs. Royalton and Scott’s face, it must have been unusual for the judge to escort him back herself.

“Mrs. Royalton, Charles is a fine young man,” Judge Freddy declared as she entered the room. D’ar felt himself blush up to the tips of his ears and was glad that no one else was there to see. “I can see it’s going to be a pleasure working with him.”

“Yes, Judge, he is,” Mrs. Royalton agreed with the older woman.

“Charles, you take care and I will see you again soon,” the judge shook his hand, just like he was a grown up. “And, remember, I’m your advocate, so use me if you need me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” D’ar answered. “Thanks, Judge Freddy.”

With a smile for D’ar, the judge headed back to her office. After taking their leave of Scott and exiting to the hallway, Mrs. Royalton turned to D’ar. “’Judge Freddy, huh? That sounds like it went well.”

“I like her,” D’ar said. “She seemed a little scary at first, but she’s really nice.”

“Good, I’m glad you hit it off so well,” the social worker pressed the button for the elevator to take them back down so they could cross over to the other building. “Do you feel better about the idea of living with your brother, if she says it’s okay?”

D’ar nodded. “I don’t think it would be easy to lie to Judge Freddy.”

“No, I don’t think it would be easy either,” the elevator arrived and they got in. “In fact, I can’t imagine even trying, although I’ve heard some people have and gotten a tongue-lashing for it.”

“Judge Freddy says that she won’t be talking to my brother until later,” D’ar said. “What do I do until then?”

“You remember the lounge?” Mrs. Royalton asked. “I know it’s not fun to in be stuck in there all afternoon, but it’s the best I can do.”

The lounge was a big waiting area, but since CPS was geared towards children, it was kid-friendly. About half of it was set up for little kids, with toys and puzzles and a small television that played cartoons. The other half was more for older kids and teens. Kids could check out a tablet or hand-held games, there were books or a bigger television that played movies that were still pretty tame, but not for babies either. There were worse places to spend a couple of hours.

“It’ll be good.” D’ar had a sudden thought. “What about school?”

“I called them this morning and told them you’d be out until next week,” Mrs. Royalton explained. By this time they were off the elevator and navigating the busier corridor. “If Judge Fredrick decides to place you with your brother, he’s agreed to let you finish the school year there, but even so, I figured you’d want a few days to get to know one another better.”

“Judge Freddy said she’d decide this afternoon?” D’ar asked.

Mrs. Royalton smiled at him apologetically. “I know that seems awfully fast, but keep in mind we’ve been investigating your brother for a while now. Even so, we wouldn’t be doing this so quickly if it hadn’t been necessary to remove you from the Duras house. I’m sorry this is so sudden. I’m sure it’s unsettling for you.”

D’ar shrugged off her comment and instead pressed for the information he wanted. “So what time will I know and what happens if I don’t go live with him?”

They arrived outside of the lounge and Mrs. Royalton pulled him to the side of the door so they could finish talking. “After Judge Fredrick meets with your brother, she’ll meet with me and we’ll talk things over. And then at 4 pm, your brother will come to the courtroom and Judge Fredrick will make her official decision. We should know by 4:30.”

Looking at a nearby clock, D’ar was surprised to realize that it was already noon. Even so, waiting until 4:30 seemed like such a long stretch of time.

“It’s just an educated guess, mind you, but I really do think she will place you with him. If not, it’ll probably be another night or two in the group home until we find a new foster for you.” Mrs. Royalton looked at D’ar in concern. “Would that be okay? You seemed to like it well enough last night.”

“The same one as last night?” D’ar asked. When she nodded a yes, he sighed with relief. He didn’t relish the idea of another night at the Strong Kids House, but at least he knew what to expect. “That’s okay.”

“All right, go on in and I’ll check you in with the supervisor,” Mrs. Royalton instructed. With such a large group of kids, there was always several staff on hand in the lounge. Mostly it was to babysit the younger kids, but also to keep an eye on the older ones. “They should be having pizza delivered in a little bit, so you won’t miss lunch.”

“Okay.”

Mrs. Royalton smiled at him. “I’ll see you later then. Try not to worry, I have a feeling everything’s going to turn out just fine.”

D’ar did as she suggested. When he first opened the door, a cacophony of sound hit his ears, but the door opened up into the little kid area. The big kid area was separated by a wall of clear glass and once he got in there, the noise level was manageable. There were only a few kids inside and they were mostly bent over electronic gadgets of one kind or another. D’ar just headed for the TV area, since it was deserted. He didn’t even pay attention to what movie was playing. Mostly he just wanted some time to think.

By the end of the day, he might be living with his brother. D’ar felt a little flip in his stomach at the idea, but for the first time, it was the kind of flip that came from excitement and not fear.

Maybe this brother thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still on track for the brothers to meet in Chapter 6. Hope it's worth the wait. :)
> 
> While I did a little research on foster homes, CPS and family court, I'm sure that I'm getting more wrong than I am right in this story. I've also read wildly contradicting first person accounts of being in the foster care system. I suspect that the vast majority of those who open their homes to be foster parents or work for CPS are wonderful people who are doing their best in a heart-breaking job that is largely thankless.


	6. Chapter 6

After the successful Monday morning meeting with the social worker, there was no way that Athos and his friends could settle into work right away. Instead, they went for a late breakfast at the Garrison, their preferred diner. 

“Wow, you guys are in a good mood,” Agnes, their favorite waitress greeted them as she approached their usual booth. She was carrying a coffee pot and all four of the friends turned over the mugs already on the table. As Agnes filled them, she continued to comment on how cheerful they were. “What’s the celebration for?”

Aramis was sitting on the same side of the booth as Athos and he clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Our friend, Athos, has just been apprised of a new family member. His apartment will soon reverberate with the pitter patter of little feet.”

Agnes knew them well enough to be aware that Athos didn’t date and so her surprise was understandable. She also had a bit of a crush on Athos, or maybe more than ‘a bit’ since even Athos had noticed it. It made him uncomfortable, but not enough that he approved of Aramis teasing the poor woman. Athos loved Aramis dearly, but the man’s penchant for mischief was sometimes less than loveable.

“Aramis exaggerates, as usual,” Athos shot a quelling glare at Aramis, which only served to make the man’s grin grow wider. “The boy is just a few months shy of turning thirteen, a little old for any pitter pattering.” If anything, Agnes’ expression grew more confused and Athos realized he hadn’t addressed the primary misconception that Aramis’ comments had fostered. “And it’s a newfound brother that I’ve been made aware of, not a child of my own.”

“Ah,” Agnes’ face cleared and from the way that Constance found the need to hide her smile by taking a sip from her water glass, it probably was relief that had briefly flashed across Agnes’ face. “You didn’t know about this brother earlier?”

Between the four of them, the friends told her the whole story. By the time they were finished, Agnes’ expression was full of sympathy. “That poor child. Athos, it’s so good of you to take him in.”

Athos shrugged. “He’s family.”

A customer at another booth held up a coffee mug and Agnes gestured that she’d be there in a minute. “Everyone want the usual?” They didn’t come to the Garrison as often for breakfast as they did for lunch and supper, but still frequently enough that their favorites were well known. When they responded in the affirmative, Agnes gave them another smile. “Okay, be back in a jiff.”

After she was gone, the four friends looked at each other. It was Constance that broke the silence. “What do we do now?” She was not referring to breakfast.

As one, all three turned to Athos.

Planning and strategy were skills that Athos was known to excel at, but they were of little use to him in the current situation. How to arrange his life for an unknown brother involved a whole set of variables that he couldn’t quantify. With the help of these same friends, Athos had prepared a physical space for Charles and, with their emotional support bolstering him, Athos was beginning to adjust to the idea of a new family member in his life. Thanks to Jack Bonacieux, he had a basic plan of what to do with his brother when work interfered and school was at least taken care of for the rest of the year. There was little else Athos could do to prepare for Charles’ arrival until he had more information.

Luckily for Athos, owning his own security and investigation firm meant that he had access to more information than most people.

“We continue as we started,” Athos told the others. “Flesh out the internet searches by reaching out to contacts. I particularly want to know more about Charles’ uncle and the circumstances of his step-father’s death.”

“Charles was the only witness to that,” Porthos pointed out solemnly. “Do you think that puts him into danger?”

“I don’t know, although that may be the singular good thing that came from placing the child with his uncle. It would be hard to track one boy from Lupiac in a city as large as New York.”Athos shrugged. “In any case, he’s already in danger from my lovely and lethal ex-wife. We shall have to proceed with caution.”

The rest of the meal was spent talking about the various components that needed to be researched and the methods to use. By the time they returned back to the office, they’d settled down and were ready to get to work. Athos forced himself to finish the Torrez report and set up an appointment with the client via email for the next day. As much as it didn’t feel like it at the moment, regular life did go on.

With that piece of business out of the way, Athos began the task he’d assigned himself. Namely, investigating what his ex-wife was up to.

Athos and his friends weren’t the only former Army Special Forces members that had left the military. Many of them ended up in other government positions that could make use of their specialized skills. As a result, Athos had contacts in the NSA, the FBI and the CIA. Over the years he’d asked them to keep an eye out for any activity from Anne Winter, under her own name or any of her known aliases, but that had yielded little of value. Then again, at that time, Anne represented an idle threat. As Athos sent the information about her attempt to get custody of Charles, with an approximation of when Anne had been known to be in New York, he had hopes that the new data and a definite threat to a child would help something new shake loose.

After Athos made his USA contacts, he reached out to those he had overseas. The Special Forces had occasionally worked with international military personnel and a few of those had also moved on to government rather than military jobs. As a result, Athos knew people in MI-5, DGSE and Mossad. Athos admitted to himself that he’d be relieved to find out that his ex-wife was in another part of the world, at least until Charles was safely in his custody.

By the time he’d made his round of phone calls and emails, he realized that most of the afternoon had gone by. They’d had such a late breakfast that all four of them had worked through lunch. Athos stretched, wincing when he heard as well as felt something pop. 

“You too, huh?” Constance commented, doing a stretch of her own.

Looking around, Athos could see the fatigue on all of his friends’ faces. “All right, let’s do an update and then wrap for the day.”

“You sure about that, Athos?” Aramis asked, dark eyes unusually solemn. “We can keep going.”

“As much as I want to know everything about my brother as soon as possible, this is a marathon, not a sprint,” Athos said. “Ms. Royalton wants to take things slowly with introducing me to Charles, so we have time. I would like a status report, however, before we adjourn for the night.” He looked at Constance. “Were you able to fill in some of the blanks about the uncle?”

“Yes and none of it good.”

Constance carried her laptop over to the center table and made the adjustments so her screen was projected on the wall. The first image was of a young man and, even if Athos hadn’t already known that his colleague would be talking about Charles’ uncle, he would have known who it was. The family resemblance was clear to see. 

“James Castelmore,” she began. “Two years younger than his sister, Angelica. She was already attending college in New York when their parents died, a few weeks after James graduated from high school. He also moved to New York, but unlike his sister, James was not a good student. I found applications and financial aid distributions for three different schools, two junior colleges and one trade school, but he was suspended from one after another for academic underachievement.”

“At the time of his sister’s death, James was working as a pizza delivery man, but somehow managed to afford a small apartment in SoHo.” Constance continued.

“On a delivery boy’s salary?” Porthos scoffed. “I don’t care how big the tips were, he was delivering something other than pizza.”

“Agreed.” Athos said quietly.

“No argument here,” Constance said. “But apparently James was a better drug mule than he was a student, his record was clean and there was no reason for CPS to hesitate to place Charles with him.”

“Which shows just how sloppy their research was,” Aramis said. “Any fool should have known something fishy was going on.”

“James used Facebook,” Constance looked at Athos almost apologetically. “Unfortunately, Facebook wasn’t widely popular while Angelica was alive and Alexander had virtually no online presence, so the same can’t be said for them.”

“I understand,” Athos murmured. It was still a disappointment, since Facebook ‘memorialized’ accounts after they were informed that a user had died. It would have been a convenient way to not only get background information on Charles’ mother and early family life, but might have yielded more pictures.

Constance glowered at the image on the screen and flipped through several other photos as she spoke. “Oddly enough, while James posts about music and going out with his friends and his appreciation of boobs, he never once posted anything about getting custody of his nephew. There’s no mention of Charles on his account at all.”

From the pictures, James Castelmore had been a party boy. He may have flunked out of college, but clearly had hung on to the frat boy stereotype.

“Rat bastard,” Porthos growled.

“And what of his death?” Athos asked, his hands clenched and unclenched with rage, but his tone remained cool. It was safe to say that Athos was rather looking forward to finding out how James Castelmore had died. He could only hope that his passing had been a painful one.

“His Facebook page just stops,” Constance explained. “But I did hear back from a NYPD contact I have for the precinct that covers SoHo.” Her words faltered and she bit her lip.

Athos stopped clenching his fists and braced himself. “Go on.”

“It seems that Charles was used to getting himself up and off to school,” Constance explained. “He also was used to no one being at the apartment when he got home. In fact, Charles was so accustomed to his uncle not being around much that he didn’t realize until the next morning that something was wrong.”

“I do not like the sound of this,” Aramis spoke for them all.

“James had the bedroom and Charles slept on a pullout sofa,” Constance was blinking rapidly, as though she were holding back tears. “It wasn’t until the next morning when he hadn’t seen his uncle for over a day that Charles thought to look in his uncle’s bedroom. James was dead.”

Athos closed his eyes, overwhelmed. Not only had his brother, then only nine years old and in all likelihood still reeling from the death of his father, been practically raising himself while in his uncle’s custody, he’d also been the one to discover the body of said uncle. 

James Castelmore was very lucky that he was already dead.

“If God is as just as I think he is,” Aramis said in a choked voice. “That man is burning in hell.”

“Amen, brother,” Porthos growled, the way he started cracking his knuckles showing he was just as eager to hit something as Athos was.

“The coroner’s report showed that James died of an accidental drug overdose,” Constance concluded. “There was no sign of any sort of struggle and, while drug paraphernalia was found in his bedroom, there was nothing to show that he might have been dealing.” She shot Athos a look full of compassion. “If it’s any consolation, the drugs were only found in the bedroom and, although Charles was tested, there were none in his system.”

“It’s something,” Athos conceded. “But not much.”

“No, not much.” She agreed. “The only other thing of note was that James had purchased a fancy car and, again according to his Facebook posts, upgraded his wardrobe. Both occurred approximately a month after Charles would have been placed in his care.”

“He knew about the support payments,” Athos concluded.

“Indeed, he did,” Aramis nodded at Constance as he took her place. “I’ve been tracing the money.”

Instead of a photo, Aramis projected an image of a bank statement on the screen. “Our friend Mr. Richelieu was most accommodating in giving access to the account that houses the child support payments he arranged for your father. The first few years are what you would expect. Angelica withdrew most of each month’s payment, allowing her to work part-time instead of full-time while Charles was a baby. Then, when she married, Angelica quit her job and became listed as an employee of the horse breeding operation that Alexander d’Artagnan owned.”

“For a couple of years after the marriage, little money was drawn out of the account, but that slowly changed,” Aramis continued. “The d’Artagnan horses were top quality, but owning a horse is expensive. The recession hit their farm hard and then the medical bills started piling up when Angelica became sick. Soon all the money that had stockpiled in the account was gone and withdrawals took place shortly after they were deposited. Not with the precision that would indicate an automatic transfer, but I think it was clear that the funds were being used to help keep the farm afloat.”

Aramis changed the image and James Castelmore’s picture reappeared, this time the young man was pictured in an expensive-looking suit. “When custody of Charles was transferred to his uncle, the withdrawals continued, again shortly after deposit, but with enough variation in the timing that it was clear they were done manually. I think we know what James spent the money on.”

“Or more importantly, who he didn’t spend it on,” Constance murmured.

“But get this,” Aramis switched the image to one that showed a close-up of a bank statement. “The month before James died, for the first time the money is transferred from the account, not just withdrawn.”

Athos got a bad feeling. “Transferred where?”

“Would you be surprised to learn it was sent to an offshore, untraceable account?” Aramis grimaced. “No, I’m not surprised either. It’s been transferred to that same account ever since, at the exact same time every month, right down to the second, so it’s an automated transfer as well.”

“Do you think James was killed because of it?” Porthos voiced the question to the room at large.

“I highly doubt it,” Athos answered. “The support money was $5,000 a month, a relative fortune to a small time crook like James Castelmore, but to anyone who had the sophistication to redirect the funds, it’s a pittance.”

“Then why do it? Our boy James liked spending it too much; there’s no way he set that up.” Porthos played the role of devil’s advocate.

“That’s a very good question,” Athos said. “Maybe I’m just seeing ghosts where there are none, but it’s the kind of fraud that my ex-wife was good at before she moved on to bigger targets.”

Constance frowned. “Do you think that’s how she found out about Charles? If so, why wait so long to act?”

Athos spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t know. Like I said, it may not be her at all or it could be that she connected later with whoever was responsible.”

“Well, whoever has been siphoning off the funds will be in for a nasty surprise,” Aramis said. “Richelieu may be a snake, but once he became aware of the problem, he put a stop to it. The money is once again going to an account that’s meant for Charles alone.”

Athos bristled. “I won’t need any financial assistance to take care of my brother.”

“Of course not,” Aramis placated his friend. “But your father set up the support payments to continue until Charles is 25. It’ll be a nice nest egg for him by then.”

Athos put the issue aside to deal with later. As far as he was concerned, Charles deserved a full share of the Athos family fortune. It had never been meant for Athos alone. 

“And what of Alexander d’Artagnan?” Athos turned to Porthos, knowing that his friends would forgive his change of subject. When Treville had found out about Charles, he’d used his office to obtain copies of the local sheriff’s reports on the investigations and had them sent over via messenger that morning. Porthos had been studying them ever since.

Porthos took Aramis’ place and soon another man’s photo was looking at them from the screen. “Born and raised in Lupiac, Alexander inherited the family horse business, was active with his church, and was generally well-regarded. A real salt of the earth kind of guy.”

“No enemies?” Athos asked. “Not even from other horse breeders?”

“Not according to the interviews the county mounties did,” Portos told him. “Alexander was highly respected in the horse breeding community and his horses were top notch. Even the people who competed with him directly loved the guy. Unfortunately, his business sense wasn’t quite as good. He owed the bank quite a bit of money, but there’s no indication that he turned to less legitimate money lenders.”

“What about other family members? His wife had been gone for several years, had he started dating anyone?” Athos asked. It was an unfortunately truth that most murders were committed by romantic partners or other family members. 

Porthos shook his head. “As far as all reports went, Alexander loved two things, his son and his horses. The people at his church reported that, even four years later, his was still grieving Angelica so much that he turned away all attempts to set him up on dates.”

Athos wasn’t the only one who noticed an omission. 

“And other family?” Aramis asked.

A sigh rocked Porthos’ large frame. “Alexander inherited the family horse farm when his father died and that didn’t set too well with his younger sister, Catherine. She got an inheritance, but not the horse breeding operation. She split off from her brother for a while and used the money to set up her own farm about an hour away, but they’d reconciled before Alexander married Angelica. The two were not described as being close, but spent holidays together and the like.”

“Then why do you look like you just sucked on a sour lemon?” Constance asked, arms folded across her chest. 

“Social Services in Lupiac placed Charles with Catherine when Alexander died,” Porthos continued after throwing a cautious look Athos’ way. “The day after the funeral, she contacted them and informed them that Alexander had never formally adopted the boy. Said she had no obligation or intention of raising him, He went into local foster care while they looked for other kin.”

“So she played the loving aunt while the community’s eyes were on her, but then discarded the boy as soon as possible,” Athos summed up. He could feel his friends’ eyes on him, waiting for an explosion of anger. He could feel it, but deep inside him. At the moment, Athos’ focus was on learning all he could. “And Alexander had no will?”

“Not that was filed with any lawyer,” Porthos answered. “If he had one at home, it went up with the house. Since Charles wasn’t legally related to Alexander, everything went to Catherine. Not that there was much, the farm was practically bankrupt by that point.”

“Tell me about the fire and how Alexander died,” Athos said, knowing that it would be the worst part of his brother’s history and wanting to get hearing about it over with.

“The farms out in Lupiac are big and so when the neighbors saw smoke at the d’Artagnan farm, they couldn’t immediately see what was wrong.” Porthos explained, his voice flat. “They tried to call Alexander and when he didn’t answer, they called 911. Then because the police are even more spread out than the farms, they drove over themselves too, knowing they could get there faster.”

Porthos cleared his throat. “They found the house engulfed in flames and Alexander and Charles right outside. The boy was sitting by his father, holding his hand, but Alexander was already dead. They only recognized Alexander at first because of a ring he was wearing.”

“Was he burned?” Aramis asked softly.

“Not according to the report,” Porthos shook his head. “Coroner determined later that Alexander had been beaten pretty badly and also stabbed 13 times. Cause of death was massive blood loss.”

“Overkill,” Aramis grimaced. “Literally.”

“But the boy was uninjured?” Athos asked anxiously, even though he knew from previous information that Charles had been unhurt the night Alexander died.

“Not a scratch on him,” Porthos assured him. “Although apparently Charles was covered in blood.”

“Poor boy saw his father die,” Constance’s voice was small and sad.

“Most likely, but he was in deep shock when his neighbors arrived,” Porthos explained. “He was almost catatonic when taken to the hospital and when he woke the next day, didn’t remember nothing. Was interviewed a few times by authorities since, but nothing.”

“Charles was nine,” Athos stated. “A child that age would not have been capable of carrying an adult male out of a burning house.”

“Alexander might have been alive long enough to carry some of his own weight,” Aramis suggested.

Porthos shook his head before the other man was even finished speaking. “According to the crime scene report, Alexander bled out somewhere else. Any evidence of the actual murder was destroyed in the fire. They scoured the surrounding area too, but nothing. It didn’t help that a major thunderstorm blew in right after the fire was discovered. It contributed to putting the flames out, but messed up the crime scene. Not so much as a footprint or tire track was found. It was like the crime was committed by a ghost.”

“So our murderer was ruthless enough to a kill a man in front of a nine year-old child but then carried the dead weight of a corpse outside of a burning house,” Athos summed it up. “He was also professional enough not to leave any clues, but allowed a witness to live.”

“Thank god,” Aramis pulled out the cross he wore around his neck and kissed it before tucking it away again.

Athos silently seconded the prayer. “And only the house burned, not the stables or the horses?”

“Just the house,” Porthos confirmed. 

“If the intent was to ruin Alexander, then the attack would have been on the horses,” Athos conjectured.

“Beating and the stabbing the man would imply it was personal,” Aramis added.

“Or a professional hired to do a job that he enjoys too much,” Athos countered. He didn’t like the sound of that or the idea that man who’d raised his brother had some sort of hidden sordid past that would cause someone to want to kill him.

Porthos groaned. “Or professionals – we don’t know if it was just one person who did the deed. The sheriff’s office has made zero progress on the murder. It’s as much of a mystery now as when Alexander’s body was found.”

“We do know one thing for certain,” Constance said with confidence. When her colleagues looked at her, she smiled unpleasantly. “When we find the person, or people, who did this, we’re going to make sure that they wish they’d never been born.”

On that, the friends were in agreement.

“On that cheery note, I bid you a fond farewell,” Athos told them. When the others just stared at him blankly, he made a shooing motion. “That’s enough for tonight. I’m kicking you out.”

“There’s a game on tonight,” Aramis suggested, but Athos could tell that the younger man’s smile was forced. “How about we order in some pizza?”

“No, thank you,” Athos turned him down flat. “I feel the need to hit something. I think I’ll go downstairs and train for a while.”

“Ditto to that,” Porthos grinned. “Care for a sparring partner?”

“Or two?” Aramis was quick to add. 

Athos nodded, even as he inwardly sighed. He really would have preferred to be alone, but could understand his friends’ need to let off some anger too. As one, the three of them looked to Constance.

“Damn,” she swore with feeling. “I promised Molly I’d meet her for drinks. She finally broke up with that idiot boyfriend of hers, so I can’t brush her off. Otherwise I’d join you in a heartbeat.”

“No matter,” Athos reassured her. “We’ll pick this back up in the morning.”

In a flurry of apologies, Constance shut down her computer and was on her way. As he watched her leave, Aramis grinned. “I almost feel sorry for anyone who tries a bad pickup line on her tonight. He’ll get his head handed to him on a silver plate . . . or a swift kick to the nether regions.”

“That’s our girl,” Porthos said proudly. “C’mon, Athos. I thought you said something about a rumble?”

“I didn’t say I wanted a rumble,” Athos corrected him pointedly. “I said I wanted to hit something.”

Porthos shrugged. “I’m something, you can hit me.” The famous Porthos grin was a bit more shark-like than normal. “Or you can try.”

After locking up, the three men went down to the lower level, an area that Athos had been careful not to mention to the social worker when she did her tour. It wasn’t that it was a dangerous space, per se, but it definitely housed some dangerous items.

One of the short walls was where the old bank vault was located and it, appropriately enough, housed the larger weapons and armaments that they’d acquired over the years. Since these were rarely used, the heavy vault door was locked and only the four of them knew how to open it. A couple of long, plain tables were set up near the vault, along with shelving units that held everything was needed for gun cleaning and the like. Former soldiers, the three men took caring for their weapons seriously.

The rest of the lower level was given over to physical training. Part of it had mats and served as a sparring area, while another part had a variety of workout and weightlifting equipment. The far wall, across the building and opposite of the vault, had several shower stalls and more shelving, this time with clothing appropriate to working out. Lastly, there was an old set of washing and drying machines. The Musketeers knew that their first and most valuable weapons were their bodies and they took every bit as good of care of them as they did their guns.

After a quick change of clothing and warm up stretches, Athos found himself across from Porthos in the sparring arena. Both he and Athos wore face guards and padding, but it was light protection. Typically they didn’t have that kind of protection in the field and liked to keep things realistic. Aramis was already attacking a punching bag, but Athos had noticed that he’d positioned himself so that he could keep an eye on what the other two were doing. Athos wasn’t sure if Aramis had done that because he wanted to pick up any new fighting moves that might happen or if he was worried he might need to patch one of them up. 

Given the fury in his heart and the dangerous grin that Porthos was sporting, Athos had a feeling that some patching up might be necessary before the night was over.

“Ready?” Athos asked his sparring partner.

Porthos made a ‘come here’ gesture with his fingers. “Bring it on.”

Athos did just that, launching himself at the bigger man as soon as the words were out of Porthos’ mouth. The aggressive move surprised Porthos; Athos was normally a precise, controlled fighting machine, with every move designed to take advantage of an opponent’s weaknesses. His ability to keep his emotions in check, in conjunction with his meticulous and coordinated movements, made him a formidable opponent. In contrast, Porthos’ fighting style was similar to a tornado; he was a strong, fast and unpredictable force of nature that rolled over adversaries, usually taking them down with ease.

The two men’s fighting techniques were as different as it was possible to be, but each were skilled in their chosen style and were usually relatively equal. Not this time. Athos’ aggressive approach, more typical of Porthos, had the bigger man flat on his back within a matter of seconds.

“That’s one,” Athos’ grin was borderline savage.

“All right,” Porthos got up slowly, looking at Athos with narrowed eyes. “I’ll give you that one, but you won’t take me by surprise that way again.”

“I should hope not,” Athos retorted.

Porthos again signaled that he was ready and clearly he was anticipating another quick attack. Instead, Athos circled him slowly, as though looking for a weakness. This was a far more characteristic action for him during sparring and Porthos took advantage of it, launching an attack of his own. Athos easily countered, again using an emotion-based aggressiveness that wasn’t usual for him and again ending with Porthos flat on his back.

Athos stepped back. “That’s two.”

“Three’s always been my lucky number,” Porthos said. 

The big man laid in to Athos again, but was smarter about it and wasn’t immediately beaten. Eventually, he did get the best of Athos and smirked as the shorter man was slow to get up.

“Told you,” Porthos said. “Had enough?”

Athos shook his head. “Hardly.”

It went back and forth like that for some time, with Athos usually the victor in their bouts. As he fought, his mind kept dwelling on the fact that his nine year-old brother had seen his father die. Athos could picture the boy sitting by his dead father, a vacant expression in his eyes due to shock. Somehow that vacant expression morphed into the dead eyes of his other brother, Thomas, and before he knew it, Athos was straddling Porthos’ prone body, arm already moving to deliver a crushing blow.

It never had the chance to land.

Athos was tackled from the side as Aramis entered the fray. When the three men had untangled themselves, the newcomer looked at Porthos. “You okay?”

“Peachy.” Porthos’ grin was wide and genuine; he wasn’t being sarcastic at all.

“Porthos, I’m sorry,” Athos apologized, realizing that he could have seriously injured his friend.

“Don’t insult me,” Porthos scoffed, accepting Athos’ hand in helping him up. “I’ve been after you for months to really let go; you don’t get to apologize when you finally do.”

Athos ran a hand through his sweaty and disheveled hair. “Somehow, I don’t think this is exactly what you had in mind.”

Porthos snorted. “Speak for yourself; this is exactly what I had in mind – although before Friday, I never would have thought a kid brother was what would finally put you over the top.” He grinned at Aramis. “Think he’s had enough?”

Aramis stroked his chin. “No, I don’t believe he has.”

“I’m right here,” Athos waved his hand. “You could ask me if I’ve had enough.”

“Besides, I think his two-on-one skills are rusty,” Porthos continued, as though he hadn’t heard Athos.

“Definitely rusty or I wouldn’t have been able to get him off of you so easily,” Aramis added. “He needs to work on that and there’s no time like the present.”

Before Athos could protest any more, his two friends were coming at him in synch. They did indeed get him on the mat, but Athos didn’t stay there long. Porthos helped him up and they started over again. The second time, Athos held his own for longer, but was on his way to being overwhelmed when Aramis abruptly changed sides and it was once again Porthos’ turn to be defeated.

“That ain’t fair,” Porthos protested.

“On the contrary, my friend,” Aramis was breathing hard, but his grin lost none of its luster. “All’s fair in love and war.”

“The problem with you, Aramis,” Athos added dryly. “Is deciding which is love and which is war.”

Aramis helped Porthos up. “That’s my charm.”

“That’s one word for it,” Porthos snorted. “Come on you two, I’ll take you both on.”

The sparring session lost much of its structure after that, with Aramis switching sides indiscriminately. It made for an interesting workout and Athos found himself grinning almost as fiercely as Porthos after a few more bouts. Eventually it turned into something of a melee and they all ended up on their backs, looking up at the ceiling while they tried to control their breathing.

Porthos turned his head to give Athos an assessing look. Liking what he saw, he nodded his head. “Yeah, he’s had enough.”

“The hell with him,” Aramis panted. “I’ve had enough.”

Athos pulled himself slowly to a sitting position. “I do believe that Porthos is right, I’m done.” He looked at them gratefully. “Thank you.”

“You feeling more settled?” Porthos asked, getting to his feet and offering first Athos and then Aramis a hand up.

“Honestly, I’m too tired to feel much of anything at the moment,” Athos admitted.

Porthos grinned. “Good, that was the whole idea.”

Athos gave a vague wave towards the showers. “You clean-up here. I can shower in my apartment.” After the workout session they’d just had, there was no chance that the other two men would want to leave the building looking and smelling the way they did.

Aramis put a hand on his arm. “Promise you’ll eat something.”

Athos knew he should be hungry, but was too tired and sore to feel it yet. Still, he knew that an appetite would catch up with him once he’d recovered a little. “Promise.”

“See you in the morning, then,” Porthos was walking somewhat gingerly towards the showers and Athos felt a little satisfied at the sight. It wasn’t often that he was able to get the bigger man into that state.

“In the morning,” Athos confirmed. “And, thank you both.”

“Any time,” Aramis grimaced as he moved his head from side to side, trying to get his neck to pop. “Although it might be best to wait until the bruises fade before we do this again.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Porthos taunted. “We’ll wash up and then go get drink. I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone willing to kiss it and make it better.”

Athos opened the door. “Just remember, Torrez is coming by in the morning, so try to look somewhat presentable.”

Feeling he’d aged about fifty years, Athos climbed the stairs up this apartment. The building was old and the stairs creaked as badly as they ever did, but Athos would have sworn that his bones creaked even louder. Once he got inside, he shuffled towards the bathroom, but remembering his promise to Aramis, took a detour by the kitchen. There were still plenty of supplies left from the weekend, so he slapped together a quick sandwich and wolfed it down while he got clean clothes from the bedroom.

When renovating the building and creating his apartment space, Athos had invested in tankless water heaters. He was grateful for the indulgence when he stepped under the hot water, since he could stay in the shower as long as he wanted. He took advantage of that, lingering for a long time and letting the warm spray ease his sore muscles. Once he got out, he popped two ibuprofen tablets, knowing that the painkiller would be needed.

Athos not only felt more human when he got out of the shower, but also hungry. The sandwich had taken the edge off, but it wasn’t going to be enough. Athos briefly thought about using his supplies to make something else, but decided that he didn’t want to ruin the restorative powers of the shower by cooking. Instead, he called an old standby, a nearby Italian restaurant that delivered to the immediate neighborhood. He ordered a meatball sandwich, pretty sure that Mama O would supplement it with an Italian salad and, if Athos was really lucky, some tiramisu or a cannoli. 

While Athos waited for the food to arrive, he booted up his laptop. He originally had no particular motive and went online simply as a way to amuse himself until the food was delivered. By the time his order arrived, however, Athos was deep into a search of local schools and his head was fairly spinning. Apparently the choice of school would profoundly impact Charles’ for the rest of his life; how was Athos supposed to make such a decision?

He was saved by the chime that announced that someone was at the door at the bottom of the stairs. Athos took a quick look at the security camera feed and, since he recognized the delivery man, buzzed him up. By the time the newcomer was at the door, Athos had it ready and waiting.

“Good evening, Fausto,” Athos greeted him, taking the bag and giving the man a tip. “How’s your mother?”

“You know Mama, always happy to get an order from one of her favorites,” Fausto grinned at him. “She might have slipped something extra in there, since it’s for you.”

Athos returned the smile. “How’s she ever going to make a profit if she keeps doing that?”

“She says she needs to fatten you up,” he laughed when Athos rolled his eyes. “Hey, every minute she spends fussing over you is a minute she can’t fuss over me.”

“Glad to be of service,” Athos retorted dryly.

Fausto started down the stairs, but turned back. “I’m supposed to tell you, though, that this is the last delivery until you come in the restaurant again. Mama says she needs to see you for herself, to make sure you haven’t wasted away or anything. And tell Aramis that it’s safe to come back, my last sister is engaged.”

Once Mama O had heard that Aramis had once considered becoming a priest, she’d set her cap on having him for a son-in-law. The Bianchi daughters were lovely, so that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Aramis was nowhere near ready to settle down. It had made for some interesting dinner conversations at the restaurant. Mama O’s efforts had grown progressively more assertive when she was down to one single daughter, with the result that Aramis had been finding all sorts of excuses not eat there.

“I’ll tell him,” Athos promised. “And give Violetta my congratulations.”

“I will,” Fausto promised and he jogged down the steps. “But you better stop by too one of these days or you just may find my mother at your door.”

“Heaven forbid,” Athos said to himself softly as he closed the door. 

Athos settled at the table again and opened the bag containing the food. He sighed with satisfaction as the delicious aromas wafted out, making his mouth water. Not only did the bag hold his meatball sub, but also had the anticipated salad and a plastic container that did indeed hold a large serving of tiramisu. “Bless you, Mama O.”

With a hearty appetite, Athos dug in. Since looking at schools wasn’t proving productive, Athos decided to instead research the basics on raising an adolescent. It was a bad idea. Only the quality of the meal he was eating kept his appetite from being put off. Some references emphasized giving teens leeway, while others stressed the need to have rules and boundaries. As a private investigator, Athos was already aware of how dangerous social media could be for teens that trusted too much or wanted to share too much.

By the time, he was done with his sandwich and salad, Athos was done with researching too. Between his own childhood and what he’d seen on the many runaway cases they’d had, he knew some of what not to do while raising his brother. Other than that, he’d have to do like everyone else and figure it out as he went along. It wasn’t Athos’ preferred method of doing things, but his reluctance didn’t mean he wasn’t good at it. Besides, he had Porthos and Aramis to help him and they both excelled at improvising. Surely between the three of them and Constance, they’d manage to successfully see Charles to adulthood.

Mama O’s tiramisu deserved to be savored and that wasn’t possible while reading conflicting parenting advice articles. Athos shut the laptop down and instead took his dessert into the living room area. He picked up the book he’d been reading and it was a far more pleasant diversion than the research had been. Before he knew it, the tiramisu was gone and Athos was nodding over his book. It was early, but he decided his neck and back would thank him for falling asleep on a bed instead of the couch.

Athos turned in for the night, but whether it was eating so soon before sleeping or what he’d been reading about teenagers just before going to bed, but his sleep was hardly restful. He woke up early in the morning with hazy memories of bad dreams featuring an older, but not yet adult, teenaged Charles getting into all sorts of trouble and blaming Athos for not raising him properly. 

“Why would anyone willingly procreate?” Athos groaned as he sat on the side of his bed and used his fingers to rub circles on his throbbing temples. 

Even as he said it, Athos knew his complaint to be a false one. He had yet to meet Charles, but knew already that he would do whatever it took to get his younger brother into his custody, where Charles would be safe. 

Groaning again as sore muscles reminded him of the exceptionally brutal workout the night before, Athos heaved himself off the bed and headed directly for the shower. After an obscenely long time under the hot water, he started feeling human again and began to get ready for the work day. 

Athos dressed carefully in a suit. Not his best suit, but not his worst either. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what William Torrez thought of him, but knew the meeting with his client would be unpleasant. Athos was going to give the man a report that would be seen as mixed news at best. On one hand, the man’s wife wasn’t cheating on him, but on another, she was supporting the son that Torrez had renounced. Not only that, but Athos was going to charge the man triple for the privilege of receiving that information. A businessman like Torrez might take it marginally better from someone dressed like a peer rather than the business casual clothing that Athos normally wore on the job. Thus, the care Athos took choosing his clothing for the appointment.

After making some toast, Athos walked softly down the stairs, not so much worried about making noise as he was trying not to jar sore muscles. For once, he was the first person in the office and went about the routine of getting things started for the day. Athos was glad they had one of those coffee makers that used individual cups, because then Aramis couldn’t accuse him of trying to poison the rest of them with the strong coffee that he preferred. He busied himself checking the company voice mail and email to see if there were any new cases or updates on existing ones.

Porthos, Aramis and Constance arrived at basically the same time and, since they each had a cardboard cup in their hand, had probably come across one another at the coffee shop.

“This early morning stuff is beginning to get a habit,” Porthos said as they came trooped in and saw Athos had already opened the office.

“It’s amazing what a lack of alcohol can do for your wakefulness,” Athos replied. He looked at the others carefully, noting that all of them were squinting as though the light hurt. “Am I the only one without a hangover this morning?”

“Do you have to talk so loud?” Constance asked. She sat at her desk with an uncharacteristically unladylike plop.

“There’s the answer to your question,” Aramis was a little more animated than the other two, but there was also a slight green tinge to his skin.

“I take it you found your comfort last night?” Athos couldn’t help but teasing his friend. “Get all of your bruises kissed and made better?”

Aramis flinched. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Porthos chuckled evilly, but then winced as though the sound hurt.

With a certain amount of satisfaction, given her attitude towards him when he was in similar circumstances, Athos turned towards Constance. “And you? Was your friend comforted?”

“Yes.” Constance buried her head in her hands. “No. Maybe? Tequila seemed like such a good idea last night.”

“Yes, it often does.” Athos went to the small fridge they kept in the office and took out three bottles of water. He placed one on each of his friends’ desks; he was well-acquainted with hangovers. “You have about half an hour to pull yourselves together; William Torrez has an early appointment.”

Aramis pouted as he opened his water. “I think I liked it better when you weren’t a morning person.”

Porthos ignored his water for the moment. “Athos, Flea called me last night. Knowing that Charles is in the St. George school district helped her narrow down the possible foster homes last night, but there are still about a dozen.”

“Did she provide you with a list?”

“Yeah, I’ll forward it,” Porthos tapped his phone and Athos’ almost immediately buzzed with an incoming message. “She and Charon are leaving this morning for a trip, so she’s gonna be out of the office for a few days and won’t be able give us any more until she gets back.”

“This’ll be fine,” Athos glanced at the message, but forced himself to look away. “We have a couple of new cases too.”

“Don’t you want to focus on your brother?” Aramis asked.

Athos looked at him levelly. “Are you forgetting what I said last night already? As much as I want to know everything about Charles as soon as possible, we have to take the long view and, in the meantime, bills must be paid. These two new cases, while not as interesting as my brother, will nonetheless bring in money.”

“Which is it this time?” Constance had downed half her bottle of water in one gulp and was looking improved. “Cheating husband or cheating wife?”

“Or one of each?” Aramis added, letting Athos’ admonishment roll of his back as he usually did. “You did say there were two cases.”

“We do have one case of possible marital infidelity,” Athos confirmed. “And it’s a wife suspicious of her husband. The other is a restaurant manager concerned that his wine stock seems to be disappearing more quickly than the receipts indicate it should.”

“I’ll do the intake interview on the wife,” Porthos offered. It wasn’t unexpected. They’d learned in the beginning that distressed wives reacted well to Porthos, despite his big and burly appearance. It was if they sensed that he had a deeply protective nature and that they would be safe with him.

“Constance and I will do the restaurant.” Aramis stated firmly. “You, Athos, will do the background checks on that list of foster homes that Charles might be in.”

“I - . . . .” Athos started to protest, but realized his mistake when he was glared at by all three of his friends. “I will do the foster home background checks.”

“Good boy,” Constance praised him. “And, besides, you have Torrez coming in this morning.”

“Don’t remind me,” Athos complained. “The man is insufferable.”

“But he’s got deep pockets,” Porthos reminded him. “I think you can suffer a bit if he pays his bill.”

Athos remembered the stressed and sad look of Mrs. Torrez as she’d worked in the bar to support her son. “Actually, I rather hope he protests what we’re charging him. I wouldn’t mind slapping him down a bit.”

“Verbally, of course,” Contance said primly.

“Of course,” Athos gave her a bland look as he agreed. His control was usually good enough that he didn’t need to be reminded about that sort of thing.

The team settled into their morning. There wasn’t much time before Torrez was to arrive, so Athos didn’t start the background checks. He knew once he did that, it would be hard to pull himself away. Instead, he quickly reviewed the Torrez case and printed everything out that was needed. By the time he was finishing up, the client had arrived.

“Mr. Torrez,” Athos greeted the man as he walked in the door. “Prompt, as usual.”

“Can we get this over with?” William Torrez said abruptly. “I have a meeting at 10 am.”

Torrez wasn’t quite as unpleasant to look at as he was to deal with. He was of average height and weight, with dark hair that was silvering at the temples. His most striking feature was sharp brown eyes that tended to look as though he were assessing everything. Then again, given his business acuity, maybe he was appraising everything he saw.

“Of course, right this way,” Athos led the way to the enclosed office they used for meeting with clients.

Given his client’s brusque attitude, Athos didn’t bother with the niceties such as an offer of water or coffee. Instead, he just ushered Torrez inside and started to talk as soon as the man sat down. “Your wife is not having an affair.”

“What?” Contrary to what the normal reaction was, Torrez almost seemed angry. “But she hasn’t been answering her phone as quickly and she’s got new clothes and her hair is different.”

It was rare for a husband to be angry that his wife wasn’t cheating, but maybe Torrez was just offended at the implication that he’d been wrong. At the moment, Athos decided it would be best to pander to his client’s ego.

“You’re right, there have been significant changes in her behavior,” Athos said. “But it doesn’t include another man, unless you count your son.”

Torrez blinked, both literally and figuratively. “Excuse me?”

“Your wife, Christine, is a waitress at Le Raisin Français,” Athos stated plainly. “She’s using the money to fund Jack’s tuition at Columbia.” He blamed Aramis’ influence for the need to twist the knife a little. “From what I can tell, she makes quite a bit in tips.”

“She’s working?” Torrez blustered. “As a waitress?”

“Yes.” Athos said. “She picks up shifts while you’re not at home and, since your job entails quite a bit of travel, she’s practically working full time.” He went on before the other man could react. “From what I’ve observed, she does not lead the customers on in any way, shape or form. In fact, I would say that the manager is particularly protective of his staff with that regard.” Athos tilted his head before adding, “He keeps a baseball bat behind the bar.”

Unfortunately, his words had given Torrez time to think and that wasn’t a good thing. “That bitch. I told Jack that he was out on his ear, she has no right to undermine me that way. I work too hard to support him in that queer lifestyle of his.”

Athos leaned forward. “I’ve checked your joint bank accounts and verified that Mrs. Torrez is not drawing any unexplained sums from them. So it would seem that the only funds she’s provided your mutual child are those she’s earned through her own efforts.”

Being careful to keep his voice neutral, Athos continued. “I did check your private account, however. The one you keep at a completely different financial institution and have the statements delivered to your office instead of your home. That account does have unexplained withdrawals, to a Ms. Margo Epstein.”

Torrez’ face grew red. “Are you threatening to blackmail me?”

“You gave us access to the information when you hired us to investigate your wife,” Athos reminded him. “A successful businessman like yourself would have known that we would need to check the accounts to trace any illicit activities Mrs. Torrez might have been doing.” He held up a hand to ward off any further protests. “And don’t worry, the contract we signed with you includes a very strict confidentiality agreement. Your wife will never learn of that account from anyone at Musketeers Security and Investigations.”

“She better not,” Torrez muttered. In the face of Athos’ cool professionalism, he didn’t appear to want to say it any louder.

“Here are copies of your bank statements, showing what I just told you, that no questionable withdrawals were made, and here are copies of your credit card statements. Again, no questionable charges,” Athos handed over the paperwork. It was, of course, information that Torrez had access to himself, but Athos liked to provide a complete picture to the client. “You and your wife’s cell phones are also paid for using your joint accounts, so I have call logs for those as well. Most of the calls and texts went to Mrs. Torrez’ friends and family, but there were two notable new ones that received many calls each.”

“Aha,” Torrez perked up.

Athos realized that his client wanted his wife to be guilty of infidelity – maybe as a way to get out of the marriage? Given the pre-nup the two had signed, it was a distinct possibility, if Torrez wanted to marry his mistress instead.

“We were able to trace both phone numbers. One is to your son. When you cut him off, it included his cell phone and so he had to replace it. Jack’s new cell is the number that Mrs. Torrez calls and texts the most.” Athos said. “The other is to the bar where your wife works. Those calls aren’t nearly as frequent.”

“You’ll just have to dig deeper,” Torrez suggested. “I’m sure that a firm with your reputation can discover some evidence of Christine’s infidelity if you just try harder.”

“We cannot find what does not exist,” Athos allowed distain to color his voice. “And I’m sure a man of your standing is not suggesting that we manufacture evidence.”

“Of course not,” Torrez flushed at being called out. “That would be unethical.”

“Good.” Athos drew out one more piece of paper. “Now that issue is settled, there is the matter of your bill.”

Torrez took a look at the bill and sneered. “I’m not paying this; your investigators are obviously incompetent.”

Athos sat back in his chair and stared at the other man coolly. He’d been told that his stare could be intimidating, so Athos let it do all the work for him and didn’t speak. For all he was a successful business man who’d been involved in multinational negotiations, Torrez was the first to blink.

“I don’t have to pay for sub-par work,” Torrez added.

“Yes, actually, you do,” Athos took great pleasure in telling him. “That same contract that assures your privacy also assures our payment. And, as the experts in the investigative field, it is up to us to determine when a case is complete.”

“I’ll take you to court if I have to,” Torrez claimed.

Athos raised one eyebrow. “Go right ahead, I’m confident in our contract.” He cocked his head as he considered the man sitting across from him. “Of course, if this does end up in court, all aspects of our investigation will have to be brought to light as we prove the thoroughness of our research into your wife’s activities. Who knows, perhaps Ms. Epstein will be called as a witness.”

Torrez sputtered. “That’s blackmail.”

“No, that’s business,” Athos replied. “We entered into this case on good faith that we would be paid for our efforts. It’s not our fault that you don’t like the results. I assure you that Musketeers Security and Investigations will take every step necessary to obtain what we are rightfully owed.”

Athos kept a straight face during his statement, aware that he was charging the man triple, but not particularly concerned. Torrez was an ass, not to mention a bully. Athos, on the other hand, had been a soldier and had faced down far worse than an irate glorified paper pusher. He certainly wasn’t going to be as easily intimidated as Mrs. Torrez obviously had during the years she’d been married to her husband.

“Fine,” Torrez gave in, but not graciously. He reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out his checkbook. “But I’ll have you know that I consider this hush money.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Athos replied. He gathered up the materials he’d prepared for the client and put them in a manila folder. “But I assure you that our investigation was complete. Your wife is not having an affair.”

“When I find out different, I’m suing you,” Torrez finished the check, tore it out of the check book and flung it across the table.

Athos took the payment and handed over the folder with far less emotion than his client. “You can try, but it’s a moot point, since our research is accurate.” He stood. “Since our business has concluded, let me show you to the door.”

Torrez stood too and Athos half expected him to leave the research behind. At the last minute, though, Torrez grabbed the folder and silently followed Athos. They entered the office and Athos was proud of the fact that his friends paid them little attention. 

“Don’t expect any recommendations from me,” Torrez stated as they neared the outer door. “In fact, I look forward to warning my friends and colleagues away from your company.”

“For what, telling you the truth? Insinuate anything else and will be grounds for libel.” Athos waited until Torrez had huffed and started to walk out before adding a warning. “In the spirit of fairness, I should warn you that the confidentiality clause in the contract only goes so far. Private investigators are obligated to report illegal activities and should we see any evidence that you’ve taken your displeasure out on your wife in a physical way, we’ll be required to report it.”

It didn’t surprise Athos at all when Torrez glared at him. “That’s another thing you’re wrong about; I would never lift a hand towards my wife. I’m not that kind of man.”

No, Torrez was the kind of man who’d try to get his wife framed for adultery so that he could divorce her without honoring the prenuptial agreement they’d both signed and only he had broken. 

“Be that as it may, we will be watching.” Athos warned him, keeping his gaze on the man until Torrez stalked out of the door.

When their client was gone, the tension in the room went down a notch.

“That seems like it went well,” Aramis stopped pretending to work and stood.

Athos walked to Aramis’ desk and handed him the check, since it was the younger man’s week for paperwork. “It might be best to deposit this immediately; Torrez strikes me as the type of man who doesn’t like being told no.”

“Good idea,” Aramis grabbed his hat and started for the door. “Maybe the lovely Adele will be working today.”

“If she’s not, I’m sure the beautiful Carlotta or gorgeous Zoe will be,” Porthos said dryly, making Aramis laugh. The big man just shook his head fondly as Aramis left the office. “Attractive women seem to surround him like a fog.”

“I always thought it was the other way around, that Aramis loves women so much that his appreciation just brings out their natural beauty,” Athos commented quietly. The utter silence after his words caused him to turn towards his coworkers. “What?”

Constance closed her mouth with an audible snap. “That was. . . poetic.”

“It was something, all right,” Porthos looked at Athos suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Athos?”

“It was just an observation,” Athos tried not to be defensive when he answered. “Don’t you have work to do?”

The other two grinned at his discomfiture, but did as he suggested and went back to their tasks. The rest of the day went almost normally, given that Athos was still reeling from the impending change in his life due to his newly discovered sibling. It helped to see the others in the familiar routine of opening new cases. At least everything hadn’t changed.

Athos dove into the foster home background checks with a vengeance. All 12 of the possible fosters taking care of Charles were relatively clean in that none of the couples had any sort of arrest record. A few of them had minor vehicle-related infractions, but nothing more alarming than a speeding ticket. Athos had only taken the time to research the husband and wife of each foster, he’d have to go back and check other family members at a later date.

The next step was Google Earth, since Athos was eager to get a view of where Charles might be living. Most of the addresses were single family homes and they varied. Some were pristine, while others had an aura of neglect about them. Two were apartment buildings and that gave Athos some hope that Charles had experience living in something other than a house.

As the day wore on, Athos found that he was getting more and more restless. He knew that Ann Royalton would be informing Charles at some point during the day that he had an older brother, but Athos had no idea how the boy would actually react. Would he be relieved that he had family after all or be angry that he’d been abandoned?

Aramis had come back from the bank quickly, the check cashed with ease. Per their earlier conversation, only a third of it had been deposited for the business and Aramis had gotten the remainder in cash. The envelope containing the surplus was safely stowed in one of Athos’ desk drawers. Other than that, the day was a mundane one. The FedEx delivery was made, which Constance received. She went shopping at lunch, while the men hit the food trucks parked nearby. Everything proceeded as normal; it was only Athos’ world that had been shaken to the core.

“Okay, we’re done,” Porthos announced. 

It’d been so quiet in the large room that Athos actually jumped and it was only then that he realized that his shoulders were sore from been hunched over a computer screen. Although their workday was flexible to accommodate what was needed on the various cases they were investigating, if nothing was immediately looming, they did try to keep to normal office hours. It was quitting time.

“Agreed,” Athos powered down his computer and saw that the others were doing the same. “I feel a thirst coming on. Anyone care to join me?”

Porthos smirked. “I heard there’s this nice bar that has a French theme. Been meaning to try it out.”

“Before we go, though,” Constance approached Athos’ desk with something bordering on nervousness, very uncharacteristic for her. “I have something for you.”

She handed Athos a gift bag. He looked at the other two for an idea of what was going on, but they just shrugged. Mystified, Athos reached inside and withdrew a tissue-wrapped item. A little more unwrapping and he realized it was a picture frame, the kind that held two photos and was hinged in the middle.

“They arrived this morning with the rest of the FedEx delivery,” Constance explained. “I knew you’d take forever before getting around to finding a frame, so I did that over my lunch break.”

The photos were the ones that Athos had asked her to order from the Lupiac newspaper. There’d been so much else going on that he’d nearly forgotten, but now that they were in his hands, he was heartily glad that Constance had remembered. Charles’ face smiled up at Athos from the photos and it did him good to see the boy so happy.

“Thank you,” Athos looked up at his friend, but the words weren’t enough. He stood and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek. “Thank you very much.”

Constance blushed and went back to her desk to retrieve something. “I got the same frame for the duplicate set, but I didn’t bother to wrap it. I can if you want me to, though.”

She handed Athos a second picture frame set, which was identical to one from the gift bag.

“No, this is perfect,” Athos assured her. “I’ll put it in Charles’ room so that his parents can greet him when he comes home.”

There was an oddly emotionally silence, which Aramis eventually broke. “I believe someone said something about a drink?” 

Le Raisin Français wasn’t within walking distance, but the group was reluctant to break up, so they all piled into Porthos’ SUV instead of driving separately. The choice of vehicle was probably habit. Constance’s car was too small for all four of them, everyone was used to Athos drinking too much to drive and no one in possession of their sanity wanted to ride in a car when Aramis was driving. Not because he was a bad driver, but his nonstop stream of comments about the other cars on the road.

Of the four, Athos was the only one who’d been to the bar before, so when they arrived, he didn’t need any time to look around. Instead, he took a table in the area he’d grown used to being the one where Torrez’ wife, Christine, worked.

“Not bad,” Porthos joined him. “A little fancy for my taste, but not bad at all.”

The interior was dark with wood paneling and lit with old-fashioned chandeliers and valances. The tables had cloth tablecloths that were covered with French Provencal patterns. Athos knew from previous visits that the bar had a vast wine assortment, but that food was mostly limited to imported cheeses and other French delicacies. As bars went, it was indeed fancy.

“I like it,” Constance settled herself at the table.

Aramis took the remaining seat. “Me too.” Unlike Constance and Porthos, however, he was looking at the woman serving a table near them instead of the décor. 

“Bonjour ,” a female voice greeted them. “Bienvenue.”

Athos turned and saw that it was Christine Torrez who’d spoken. At first glance, she seemed perfectly all right, but as she got closer to their table and into the light, Athos could see that her eyes were rimmed with red. She clearly recognized him too, because she smiled. Athos could only surmise that her husband hadn’t told her who’d been watching her, otherwise she probably wouldn’t be greeting him so pleasantly.

“You’ve been in here before, haven’t you?” Christine asked. When Athos nodded, she smiled at the whole group. “I’m glad to see you liked us well enough to bring friends this time. That means we must be doing something right.”

“You are,” Athos confirmed, but didn’t let on who he was. Not just yet; he’d save that for the end of their visit. “You have the most extensive wine list I’ve come across in this city.”

After a little chitchat to determine her customer’s favorites, Christine soon left with their order. 

“Did you notice, no wedding ring?” Porthos said in a low voice.

“I did,” Athos replied, also quietly. Christine wasn’t near them, but they didn’t want anyone else to overhear their conversation either. “She kept it on the other nights I was here.”

It was a frustrating situation, knowing that the woman was innocent of what her husband claimed, but not being able to warn her. Although the wine that Christine brought was of good quality, none of them really enjoyed it. Athos had planned on having a second glass, but decided to instead to put them all out of their misery.

“Can I get you folks another round?” Christine asked after the last of them finished their wine.

“No, we’ll be leaving now,” Athos told her. 

Christine frowned, no doubt mentally visualizing her tip diminishing.

“It really was lovely, though,” Constance assured her. “I will definitely be recommending this place to my friends.”

“Merci,” Christine thanked her. “Hold on for just a moment and I’ll get your bill.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Athos rose and pulled the envelope out of his pocket. The others stood as well. “I believe this will cover our tab.” 

Athos handed it to her and walked quickly towards the door, as did his friends. He heard a shocked gasp behind them, but it must have taken the waitress a few moments to get over the surprise of finding a couple thousand dollars in the envelope, because they made it all the way outside before she caught up to them.

“Wait, wait!”

“Damn,” Athos swore under his breath. He had absolutely no problem with gouging William Torrez on the investigation fee and was glad to give the surplus to the man’s wife, but didn’t know if he could handle receiving any gratitude for it.

Aramis, on the other hand, grinned. “This is the fun part.”

When they turned, Christine Torrez was holding the envelope out to Athos. “I think you made a mistake, this is far too much.”

“No, it’s not nearly enough,” Athos reached out and wrapped her fingers firmly around the envelope. “I would have tried for more, but was worried about raising your husband’s suspicions.”

“William?” Christine looked from one of their faces to the other. “What are you talking about?”

“You are aware that your husband had you investigated for possible infidelity?” Athos asked her. He knew he could be abrupt, so he did his best to keep his tone gentle. Given her red eyes and lack of wedding ring, he thought it was a pretty safe bet that Torrez had talked to his wife and therefore that he wasn’t breaking his client’s confidence.

“You?” She gasped. “That’s why you were here by yourself the last few nights.”

“Exactly,” Athos sighed. “When we take a case, we don’t always know which way it will end. When I discovered that you’d taken a job instead of a lover, it was a pleasant to change find out that the suspected spouse wasn’t cheating. And then I discovered why you’d started working here.”

“Jack,” she blinked rapidly. “I’d known for years, of course, but convinced Jack not to tell his father. We both thought, with the way everyone is becoming more opened-minded lately, that it would be safe to tell him. But we were wrong.”

“No, your husband is wrong,” Porthos stated firmly. 

“As a team, we decided to overcharge Mr. Torrez and give the surplus to you, either for your son’s tuition or to help you to start a new life,” Athos explained. Because of professional ethics, he couldn’t give the woman any hints about her husband’s mistress, but he could at least plant the seed that she didn’t need the bastard.

“In the middle of the money, you’ll find two cards. The one printed in color is for the local PFLAG chapter, just in case you hadn’t checked them out already. The card that has only the phone number on it is for a women’s shelter,” Constance added. “That way, if Mr. Torrez is more uncivilized than he claimed, you’ll have a safe place to stay.”

“Oh, William would never do anything as uncouth as to hit me,” Christine said bitterly. “He prefers to just suck the life out of someone verbally.”

The force of her own words seemed to startle her and Christine stood a little straighter. “So this is money that you essentially swindled from my husband by grossly overstating what he was charged to spy on me.”

Athos met her gaze evenly. “Yes.”

Her smile was immediate. “Good, then I have no problem with keeping it. Thank you.”

Athos cleared his throat, embarrassed by what he had to say. “I’m sure I don’t need to mention how we need your discretion on the whole billing issue.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t hear it from me.” She came back and kissed each of them on the cheek, having to stand up on her tiptoes to reach the men. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least we could do,” Athos assured her. 

Christine shook her head. “I’m sure not many private investigators would have done this much. Thank you again.”

After the woman left, the four of them headed back to the SUV.

“That went well,” Aramis said happily.

“Yeah, it did,” Porthos grinned. “I never turn down a kiss from a pretty lady.”

The bundled into the SUV and headed back to the office. It didn’t take long to get there, although it was dark by the time they arrived.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Constance immediately went to her car. “It’s Bonnie’s turn to cook, so I promised I wouldn’t be too late.”

“I have to head into the office for a moment,” Athos went to the lower level of the building. “Goodnight.”

Athos didn’t wait for answer, intent on punching in the security code. Once inside, he left the lights off, instead just making for the desk. Leaving the original behind, he grabbed the duplicate photo frame,. He wanted to place it in Charles’ room as soon as possible. 

At the top of the stairs, Athos realized that a light was on inside of his apartment and that the door was partially open. Normally those details would be cause for concern, but Athos realized that his companions hadn’t answered when he’d said goodnight, so he had a feeling he knew who was inside.

He was half right, only Aramis was sitting in his living room. The younger man was already surfing through television channels.

“Come on in, the pizza’s already ordered,” Aramis looked away from the screen when he heard the door open. 

Athos smiled wryly. “Thank you for the permission to enter my own apartment.”

“Porthos went to the bodega across the street to get some beer,” Aramis, who was seated in one of the chairs, cheerfully ignored the dig in order to grin up at Athos. “And I found something better than soccer - women’s soccer.”

“Out of the way, alcoholic beverages coming through,” Porthos came up the stairs behind Athos. He saw the expression on his friend’s face and grinned. “You really didn’t think we were going to leave you alone tonight, did you?”

“You’re both incorrigible,” Athos stated fondly as he entered the apartment, shaking his head. 

“That’s part of our charm,” Aramis retorted. “Well, that and our manly good looks.”

When Athos had given his friends the means to gain access to his apartment, getting ambushed in his living room wasn’t what he had in mind. Even so, neither could he say that he was irritated. Tomorrow he would find out how his brother reacted to learning about him. Tonight, he was glad of the company. Athos deliberately put the frame face down on the table before joining his friends.

“Just tell me that you didn’t order Hawaiian,” Athos said as he took the other chair and reached for the bottle that Porthos handed him. “Fruit belongs on many things, but a pizza is not one of them.”

Porthos snorted. “For a man of sophisticated tastes, you’re boring when it comes to pizza toppings.”

The three friends fell into their normal easy banter. By unspoken agreement, there was no discussion of Charles and Athos felt a little guilty at how relieved that made him. The fact that he’d known about his brother for less than a week and already needed breathing room did not bode well for the future. Still, even Athos had to admit that the prospect of finishing raising a preadolescent was a daunting task. He had a right to a Charles-free evening.

By the time the game was over, the pizza gone and the beer bottles empty, Athos was in a much better frame of mind. Certainly, by the time his friends left, his feelings were more settled than the night before. His body thanked him for that, still a little stiff from the sparring session and not eager for another. Athos also slept better, which was a relief. It wasn’t fair to have nightmares about his brother before he’d even met him.

The next morning, Athos woke earlier than ever and it didn’t take long for his sense of contentment to start to erode. He first went to the kitchen table and picked up the photo frame. Charles’ smiling face looked up at him.

“I wonder if you smiled yesterday when you found out you have a brother?” Athos asked quietly. The picture, of course, didn’t answer.

Athos took the frame into the room they’d prepared for Charles and carefully placed it on a table to the side of the bed. The room still seemed dreadfully empty, but it was a start.

It was Wednesday and Ann Royalton had promised to let him know how Charles took the news. Unfortunately, Athos didn’t know when that call would come. It was a fairly safe guess that it would be some time after the sun rose, so with his restlessness growing, Athos went for a quick run and then showered. He didn’t take the extra care dressing afterwards that he had the day before and so it was still early when he headed down to the office.

Unlike the previous mornings, Athos wasn’t the first one to arrive. In fact, all three of his colleagues were already there. From the paper coffee cups in their hands, they must have encountered each other at the coffee shop.

“Ah, our fearless leader is the last to make an appearance,” Aramis leaned back in his chair and smiled in satisfaction. “All is again right with the world.”

Athos felt his lips twitch. “I did not realize that you were such a creature of habit, that a small change in routine would be so disturbing.”

Porthos ignored the exchange and approached Athos, giving him a takeout cup of coffee when he got close enough. “Jolene sends her regards. She said she had a pot brewing all night just to make this sludge special for you.”

The scent coming from the cup was very strong and Athos took a cautious sip. To call the coffee strong, he decided, might be an understatement. It was delicious. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”

Constance shuddered delicately. “If that’s your reaction, I can only imagine how it tastes. It’s amazing that it hasn’t taken the curl right out of your hair.”

Aramis had gotten up from his desk and joined them, more solemn than he had been when Athos first walked in. “How are you holding up?”

Athos shrugged. “About as well as can be expected.”

“That bad, huh?” Porthos grimaced.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Aramis reassured him. “This boy has been waiting for a family for over three years and you’re able to provide that. What could go wrong?”

Both Porthos and Constance smacked him on the shoulder.

“Ouch.” Aramis turned wounded eyes on first one and then the other. “What was that for?”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Porthos complained.

Constance rolled her eyes. “When are you ever going to learn not to say things like that?”

“Oh, come on, surely you’re not that superstitious?” Aramis scoffed. “I have a good feeling about this and when have I ever been wrong about one of those?”

“Two words, Aramis,” Porthos growled. “Khogyani District.”

Aramis’ smile slipped. “Oh. That.”

“Don’t forget the Davenport case,” Constance added. “Or the time you dated that woman named Porche – or was it Mercedes? Hyundai? Some sort of car-related name anyway.”

While Aramis sputtered, Athos was quick to jump in. It was an old argument and one that he was not eager to revisit. He could admit, if just to himself, that he didn’t like his friend’s tendency to tempt fate, but he did appreciate the optimism. Athos lifted his coffee cup for a toast. “I have a new brother – to Charles.”

“What if he prefers to be called Charlie?” Constance asked, even as she lifted her own cup.

Porthos grinned. “Or Chuck.” 

“Chaz,” Aramis suggested, eyebrows waggling.

“How about we just drink to my brother?” Athos suggested wryly. 

“We can do that.” Porthos agreed.

Four paper cups touched and then each of them took a sip. Athos concentrated on how much he appreciated his coffee. He absolutely refused to consider the fact that it was bitter was a portent of things to come.

Damn Aramis and his tempting of fate.

“Take a few minutes and see what’s come in overnight,” Athos instructed. “Then we’ll gather for an update.”

The group broke apart and each of them went to check their email and voice messages. Athos had received a couple of responses overnight from his international inquiries on Anne Winter’s activities, but the contacts knew no more than his domestic ones. It was a disappointment, but not entirely unexpected.

When they regrouped, Athos started things off and, by unspoken agreement, the first subject of discussion was items related to Charles. “I’ve completed the first round of background checks on the list of foster homes Flea gave us in the St. George neighborhood. All of the heads of household are clean and no police calls have been made to any of the addresses. I’ll be expanding the research into other family members today.”

“What about Anne?” Constance asked.

“Nothing new.” Athos said tersely. He didn’t need to explain to them why it was a mixed blessing.

“Well, I have something to report,” Aramis was smug. “Do you remember how we found out that Alexander d’Artagnan’s sister inherited a mound of debt along with the family horse farm?”

“Yeah,” Porthos confirmed. “She had to sell off a lot of the animals, right?”

“Exactly,” Aramis said. “But it turns out that the real money was in the land. Apparently Catherine cleared all the issues with the estate and the money owed, because she just sold off the property to a real estate developer.”

Athos sat up straighter in his chair. If the sale involved a sizeable amount, it could be motive for murder and a sign that they should look at her more closely as a suspect. “For how much?”

“She cleared millions,” Aramis told them. “The developer is one I’ve never heard of before, so I’ll be checking into them now. Deals like this don’t just happen; we need to find out how long it’s been in the works.”

“I’ve got a telephone interview scheduled later this week with Sheriff Perkins in Lupiac,” Porthos said. “Now that we’ve looked at the particulars of the case, we can touch base to see if there’s anything that didn’t make it into the official account.”

“I want in on that call,” Athos said.

Porthos nodded, clearly not surprised. “Figured as much. I’ll send you the specifics so that you can add it to your calendar.”

The other man picked up his phone and started tapping the screen. When Athos’ phone first started vibrating, he figured it was the appointment coming through. When that vibration continued, however, he realized that his phone was ringing. He hastily dug it out of his pocket and froze. The incoming call was identified as being from Ann Royalton.

“What’s wrong?” Constance asked as she caught sight of his face.

Athos didn’t ask her directly. Instead, he answered the call. “Mrs. Royalton. I mean, Ann. When you promised to update me today, I never dreamed it would be so early. Not that I’m complaining, although I can’t decide if it’s a good sign that you’re calling so early in the day or a bad sign.”

It was only when he saw his three friends staring at him, mouths agape, that Athos realized he was babbling. He never babbled.

“Just a moment; I’m going to put you on speaker,” Athos did and placed the phone on the desk, after adjusting the volume so that it was as high as it would go.

“I take it your work colleagues are with you?” Ann’s voice sounded off, but Athos chalked that up to how being on speaker could distort the sound.

“Yes, is that a problem?”

She laughed a little and it sounded nervous. “I suppose you’d just tell them everything directly afterwards anyway.”

“Of course and this way I won’t be distracted as they pepper me with questions,” Athos said. “But I notice that you didn’t answer my question – is the timing of this call because of good news or bad?”

“A little of both,” the social worker admitted.

Athos’ stomach dropped. His face must have given it away because Constance, who was the closest to him, put a hand on the small of his back. “I take it the boy didn’t receive the news of a brother well?”

“Charles is . . . . stressed and conflicted.” Ann told him. “It was a lot for him to take in, especially with everything else that happened yesterday.”

That didn’t sound good. “And what else happened yesterday?”

It was even worse when the social worker didn’t answer him directly. “The important thing for you to know is that Charles is safe.”

Athos wasn’t the only one whose posture stiffened. No doubt Ann Royalton had meant those words to be reassuring, but they were anything but.

“Safe from what?” Athos asked, each word bitten off with cold precision.

“Some. . . . issues . . . . surfaced when we did the inspection of his foster home yesterday,” Ann replied. “It became necessary to remove Charles and the other two foster children. Again, I want to emphasize that Charles is safe and while the whole thing shook him up a bit, overall he’s fine.”

The expression on Porthos’ face was thunderous and Athos didn’t need his friend to tell him that the removal of a foster child from a home was bad news. He’d just done a background check on all the foster homes in St. George the day before, but it took a couple of weeks for new incidents to show up on the record. Lord knew what they’d found.

“What issues?” Athos asked.

“I can’t go into all of it with you due to privacy issues,” Ann started and then went on, so she apparently missed the low growling noise that Porthos made. “But what ultimately caused the removal of the children was that drugs were found at the home.”

Drugs. And Charles’ first guardian had died of a drug overdose.

“The drugs didn’t belong to the foster parents,” Ann continued to explain. “But to an adult daughter that they had allowed to stay in the home. Although the children clearly witnessed the daughter under the influence of the drugs, it’s not believed they were actually exposed to the drugs themselves.”

“Not believed?” Athos repeated. “You don’t know for sure?”

“When questioned, the children were very clear that they hadn’t taken anything. Most especially Charles.” There was a slight warming to the woman’s tone when she said the boy’s name. “But just to be sure, I have him at the doctor’s office right now. A urine test for drugs is one of the checks they’re doing.

Athos’ stomach dropped again. When drugs were present, sometimes there were also even less savory things going on. “What else are they checking for?”

“It’s a standard procedure when an emergency removal is done,” the social worker told him. “By the time things wrapped up last night, it was too late to take any of the children to the clinic, but Charles’ doctor was able to work him in early this morning. He’s being examined right now.”

That tidbit made Athos feel slightly better. If the social worker wasn’t present while Charles saw the doctor, it probably couldn’t be too bad. He made the mistake of glancing at Porthos’ face, however, and realized just how wrong that assumption could be.

“And why aren’t you with him?” Athos demanded. “Aren’t you his social worker?”

“Another CPS staff member is present,” Ann said. “And Charles has known Dr. Archibald for longer than he’s known me. He’s fine.”

But something in her voice told Athos she wanted to be with Charles during the exam anyway.

“How long had this been going on?” Athos demanded. “I’m assuming you saw no sign of either the daughter or drugs when you placed Charles with the family.”

There was an awkward silence. “I never actually inspected the home, but only because the couple was a well-established foster that came highly recommended by my colleagues.”

“I see.” Athos was skeptical and his tone showed it. “And had you inspected the home yourself, as you did mine, would you have noted the drugs or these other issues you won’t tell me about because the foster parents are apparently more deserving of privacy than I am of information about my own brother?”

“Yes, I would have.” At least the social worker didn’t deny her own culpability. “And, believe me, that’s something I will never do again.”

Because Athos did believer her, he didn’t belabor the point. “And the last inspection CPS did of the home didn’t show any red flags either?”

“That’s just it,” Ann told him. “Because they were so highly regarded and had been fosters for so many years without a complaint, the home hadn’t had a CPS inspection in years.”

“That’s unconscionable,” Athos stated flatly.

“I agree – although I will point out that we have limited resources and sometimes things slip through the cracks,” Ann admitted. “Unfortunately, there are enough complaints about other foster homes that what resources we have tend to be focused on those.”

Porthos put a finger over the phone speaker. “Ask her where Charles was last night.”

“If my brother was removed from his foster home, where did he spend the night?” Athos asked. “Another foster home? I would assume you have contingencies for such situations.”

There was a distinct hesitation on the other end of the conversation.

“We do have a network of emergency foster homes available,” Ann’s voice was hesitant when she began and, despite the promise of what she said, Athos got a bad feeling. “Unfortunately, there are a limited number of them available at any given time.”

“Ah, hell,” Porthos said in a hoarse whisper.

“What does that mean?” Athos demanded, the ashen look in his friend’s face making him even more concerned.

“We had two open spots and three children displaced,” the social worker explained. “Of the three, Charles was the oldest and so the emergency foster home slots went to the two younger girls. Charles was placed in a group home.”

Porthos strode over to the wall and hit it. Thankfully, he used an open hand and so didn’t hurt himself.

“A group home?” Athos repeated. “There was no other alternative?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Concern was quickly being replaced by anger. “You’re afraid? Was my brother afraid in a place like that?”

“It’s not like he was locked up in a federal prison,” the social worker protested. “Charles was perfectly safe there.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.” Athos said acidly. He stood and loomed over the phone as though it were the woman he was angry with. “CPS is the agency that placed Charles with a drug-addicted uncle and then allowed him to bounce around the foster care system for years like a ping pong ball. Then you put him a foster home that you knew by reputation only and drugs turned up there too – along with some other issues that you won’t even admit to.”

“Mr. Athos!” Ann Royalton’s voice had the sharp cut of whip. For all that she was a petite and delicate-looking woman, it had the bite and authority of any Army officer that Athos had come across.

Athos abruptly stopped his rant.

Correctly taking Athos’ silence to mean she had his full attention, the social worker continued. “I have a limited window of opportunity for this call and don’t have much time. You have a choice here. You can use the remaining minutes I do have to continue to berate me or you can use the time to convince me that you were serious about wanting custody of your brother as soon as possible.”

“Excuse me?” The bite was definitely gone from Athos’ voice.

“Charles cannot stay at the Duras house,” Ann continued. Even slightly dazed as he was by the change in subject, Athos was aware that the social worker had just let slip the name of Charles’ foster parents. “The most obvious option we have is to place him in another foster home, but we don’t have one available right now in the same school district. That would mean an adjustment to a new home and a new school, right at the end of the school year. The second option would be for him to say in the group home – and I’m not any happier than I imagine you would be about that.”

“The third option,” she continued, “is to place him immediately with you.”

Athos sat back down with a thump. “Immediately?” His voice hadn’t cracked that badly since he was a teenager.

“It would have to be approved by the family court judge,” Ann either didn’t notice his shock or chose not to acknowledge it. “But you’ve already been thoroughly vetted and your home inspected. You’re at least willing to attempt to keep Charles in the same school for what’s left of the year. It makes no sense to me to move Charles into a new foster home and have him acclimate to it, when it’s highly probably he’d be moving again in just a couple of months. That is, if you’re ready.”

A hand dropped to Athos shoulder and he looked up to see Aramis looking at him, his expression full of both kindness and concern. When he realized that he had Athos’ attention, Aramis solemnly nodded; Athos had his support. Athos glanced around at the other two and saw equal measures of compassion and support mirrored back at him.

Athos wasn’t alone.

“I’m ready,” Athos said. “As much as anyone can be for this situation, but I agree that it’s the best solution for Charles.”

“Good,” Ann sounded relieved. “That’s very good.”

Athos took a deep breath. “What happens next? You said something about a family court judge?”

“Yes, that’s the last piece,” the social worker explained. “You’ll meet with Judge Fredrick at 3 pm, does that work for you?”

“I’ll make it work,” Athos promised. “But to be clear, if the judge agrees, Charles would come home with me tonight?”

“If she agrees, yes, at least on a trial basis.” Ann confirmed. “It seems the logical choice and in the best interest of the child, but I should warn you that Judge Fredrick can be a little strict. She won’t just rubberstamp something, that’s why your meeting with her is so late in the day; she wants to read up on Charles’ case. You’ll need to impress her.”

Athos rubbed his forehead. Raised the way that he was, he was used to interacting with powerful people and could schmooze with the best of them; he just didn’t like to. Still, his future with his brother was at stake. If this judge needed impressing, then Athos would do whatever it would take to get the job done – even if it meant leaving his attitude at the door.

“I will be on my best behavior,” he promised. “But Ann, you never did say – how did Charles react to finding out he had a brother?”

Her sigh was audible. “In retrospect, I shouldn’t have left telling him for so long and I have a feeling I’ll get feedback on that from Judge Fredrick.” 

Athos winced.

“At first he was angry,” the social worker admitted, but was quick to clarify. “Not at you, but at your father. After that, he was all over the place with his emotions. Mostly, however, Charles couldn’t understand why you would want him.”

“Oh,” Constance looked like she was about to cry and Athos knew just how she felt.

“I will do my best to convince him,” Athos said, voice a little hoarse. “Given that I have the opportunity to try.”

“He’s still a boy and a great deal has happened to him in the last 24 hours,” Ann said. “He seemed more open to it this morning; I think he just needs time to adjust to the idea.”

Athos sighed. “Time is something we don’t have a lot of at the moment.”

“Speaking of time, I need to get going,” Ann sounded apologetic. “Charles’ exam should be done soon and I want back in the waiting room when they call for me.” She hesitated. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Athos replied, doing his best to smile at the friends looking at him. “I’ll see you at 3 pm.”

“Or a little earlier,” the social worker warned him. “Judge Fredrick is very particular about timeliness.”

“I won’t be late,” Athos promised. He left the phone sitting where it was when Ann ended the call.

Aramis lifted his crucifix to his lips. “Holy Mother of God.”

“Amen, brother,” Porthos agreed. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Athos directed his gaze at Porthos. “How bad must it have been, for the children to be taken from the home?”

Porthos hesitated for a moment, which in itself said a lot. Porthos was not the hesitating type. “It had to have been pretty bad.”

Blowing out an explosive sigh, Athos leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. He didn’t even want to think about the infractions that Ann Royalton refused to tell him because of privacy issues. 

“Are you really okay?” Constance asked. She sat in the chair next to him, expression full of concern.

“I will be,” Athos reassured her. “My friends have told me often enough that I’m not alone in this that I’ve no choice but to believe them.”

“Damn straight.” Porthos agreed. “But for all the times for Flea to be out of town – I’m sure she would have warned me if she’d been around. I’m sorry you went into that call blind.”

Athos shrugged. “It’s hardly your fault or Flea’s for that matter.”

“So what do you want to do now?” Aramis asked, voicing the question that all of them were thinking.

His mind was absolutely blank. “I have utterly no idea,” Athos admitted.

It was Constance who pulled herself together first. “Right,” she said firmly. “I’m sure the apartment is still clean, but I imagine you’ve put at least a small dent in the food supply.” She smiled at them faintly. “One thing I remember clearly from my brothers when they were that age is that food is important to teenage boys. Aramis and I will go up to your apartment and take stock of what’s there. Then we’ll hit the grocery store.”

“We will?” Aramis asked, then got a good look at her face. “Ah, yes. We will.”

Constance’s simple suggestion was enough to break Athos’ paralysis.

“Our esteemed Ms. Royalton let slip the name of Charles’ foster family,” Athos pointed out to them. “Now that I know which of the St. George fosters it was, I should be able to ferret out more details. Porthos, check any contacts we have in the appropriate police precinct, see if there’s anything else you can find out about what happened. If drugs were found, it’s likely that the authorities would have been involved.”

“On it,” Porthos went back to his computer and started to pull up contact information.

“We’ll be back in an hour or two,” Constance retrieved her purse from her desk and grabbed Aramis.

Athos didn’t question why groceries would take that long. He just waved at them as he seated himself in front of his own computer. He’d recognized the name Duras from the list of potential fosters as soon as the social worker had mentioned it. They owned one of the single family houses on the foster list. It was easy to remember because it had been one of the more rundown houses he’d looked up.

Athos re-visited the background checks he’d done on Josette and Richard Duras the day before. They were unchanged, not too surprising since the drug incident had just happened. He pulled the woman’s driver’s license photo and the man’s state identification picture, since the husband didn’t drive. They were a dour-looking duo.

Neither Duras had an online presence, which made finding information on them more of a challenge, although once he’d obtained social security numbers for both of them, details slowly began to emerge. Josette Duras had never worked outside of the home, although she was the main contact for the couple’s foster care activities. Robert Duras had been dock worker before he’d had an accident that had damaged his back too badly for him to continue working. He’d been on disability for years.

According to their tax records, the Durases had lived off the husband’s disability and the financial incentive for being foster parents. Despite their limited income, however, Athos saw that they made substantial contributions to a particular church and so he looked that up online as well. Somehow he wasn’t surprised that it was an extremely conservative church and that both Mr. and Mrs. Duras were very active in it.

There was more dirt to be found on their only child, Emily Duras. The girl went to public school and got decent grades. She also seemed active in the church. Emily Duras didn’t go to college, but did have a series of jobs, most affiliated with the church the family was devoted to. The first minor drug charge came about two years ago and she’d been going downhill ever since. The last official record was her leaving a court-mandated treatment program and Athos assumed that she’d be headed back there. At least none of the arrests had been for a violent crime, something that Athos was able to derive a little comfort from.

“Athos?”

Emerging from his research at the sound of Porthos’ voice, Athos realized he’d been at it a while. In a near panic, he looked down at his watch. It wasn’t even 11 o’clock yet, so he hadn’t missed his appointment.

“What did you find out?” Athos asked his friend.

“Talked to a sergeant I know in that precinct and he confirmed that there was a disturbance at the Duras house last night. A female adult, approximately 25 years of age, had attacked two social workers. Things had quieted down by the time the uniforms got there, but they took the woman into custody.”

Athos shook his head. “Attacked? Mrs. Royalton failed to mention that.”

Porthos gave a half-smile. “Well, it was an attack with a broom, so not really that serious. Eventually the woman was hauled off to county, to figure out if she was high or crazy.”

“Or both,” Athos added.

“Or both.” Porthos agreed. “The sergeant didn’t have many more details, just that some kids were removed from the premises and that a full search was authorized at the house. They recovered some drugs and also confiscated a male resident’s computer.”

Athos’ attention was caught by the last item. “A computer? That’s not typical of a drug case.”

Again, Porthos agreed with him. “No, it’s not. Sergeant Binks is gonna have one of the uniforms from the scene get in touch with me later. I should get more detail when I hear from her.”

“Good.” Athos quickly filled Porthos in on the details he’d discovered about Charles’ foster parents. Afterwards, he moved his head from side to side, causing his neck to pop. Porthos grimaced in sympathy.

“Look, we’re not gonna find anything else out at the moment and Aramis texted. He and Constance are bringing lunch back with them, but it it’ll be another hour or so. Let’s me and you go downstairs and do a light workout.” Porthos suggested. “I think it’d do you some good to work off the nerves.”

“That obvious?” Athos was chagrined; he was used to being to hide his feelings better than that. “All I can think about is that I hope that Charles likes me.” He laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “What am I, in junior high?”

Porthos snickered. “I don’t think you’re near that bad.”

“I’m not a very likeable man,” Athos stated truthfully. “I brood, my humor tends to cut too much and I’m a snob.”

The bigger man had moved towards the front door when Athos started to talk and by the time he’d finished, Porthos had locked up. The bigger man slung an arm around Athos’ shoulders and started to gently propel him towards the stairs. “You call it brooding, but I say you’re just a deep thinker. Your jokes are usually at your own expense and so what if you like the finer things in life? That doesn’t make you a snob. You treat everybody the same.”

Athos opened his mouth to protest, but Porthos continued talking right over him.

“You’re a good man, Olivier Athos. If you don’t believe me and Constance and Aramis, ask Treville. Or DeFoix. Look at how many people stepped up to the plate when we put out the call for references.” Porthos ignored his friend’s rising blush and continued on ruthlessly as they started down the stairs. “Agnes down at the Garrison loves you and you always do things for her little boy, even though Henry isn’t the easiest kid to interact with. You’ve got Mama O wrapped around your little finger and that’s one intimidating woman. And just try to ask Christine Torrez if you’re a good man or not.”

When they got downstairs, Porthos stopped and forced Athos to face him. Putting one hand on each of Athos’ shoulders, he shook him lightly. “Believe me when I say this – every kid in foster care dreams of a suddenly discovered relative swooping in and giving them a forever home. Your little brother just hit the foster kid lottery.”

“Me? A lottery prize?” Athos scoffed. “That might be the most damning thing I’ve heard yet about the American foster care system.”

The skin around Porthos’ eyes tightened as his expression hardened in anger. “One of these days I’m gonna meet that ex-wife of yours in person and when I do, she and I are gonna have a little chat about how she messed with your head.”

Before Athos could answer, Porthos pushed him towards the back area. “Get changed. There’s a punching bag over there with your name on it.”

Whether Porthos didn’t trust Athos on the equipment, given his current frame of mind, or if he just understood Athos’ need to hit something, they stuck to the punching bag. Well, Athos did all of the punching, while Porthos held on to the bag and offered encouragement or pointers, depending on how Athos was doing at the moment. 

It wasn’t nearly as brutal as the workout the night before had been, nor did it last as long. In fact, it seemed like Athos had barely started before Porthos was telling him to stop.

“Aramis and Constance are back with lunch,” Porthos told him, putting his phone away. He must have checked it when Athos was distracted. “Besides, you don’t want to totally wear yourself out before meeting the judge.”

“True,” Athos began unwrapping his hands. “Thank you.”

Porthos cocked his head to the side. “Feel better then?”

“Marginally.” Athos nodded, pleasantly surprised. He’d managed to burn off some of his nerves, therefore ridding himself of the building anxiety over meeting his brother and anger over the way that Charles had been treated. “I feel a little more myself, although I’m still not convinced that’s a good thing.”

“You need food, come on,” Porthos got behind Athos and gently shoved him towards the stairs. “That’s why you’re talking crazy.”

Athos resisted. “I should shower first.”

Porthos made a show of taking a sniff of him. “Nah, you’re not ripe enough to disturb even Constance’s delicate sensibilities. You can shower afterwards. Besides, you’re probably gonna want to get all prettied up for the judge anyway and that should wait until after we eat.”

Even though he was a stubborn man himself, there was no denying Porthos when he was in one of his determined moods. Athos let himself be ushered up the stairs and back into the office. When he first walked in, Constance and Aramis were standing with their backs to him. They moved when they heard the others approach and Athos could see what they’d been hiding.

“Surprise!”

It wasn’t unusual for their conference table to also serve as a dining table. What was unusual was the blue cake in the middle of it, accompanied by balloons and a banner that read ‘It’s a boy!’

“What did you do?” Athos asked, looking at them askance. And Porthos called him crazy?

“We were going to do a shower for you when it got closer to the time when Charles would move in, but everything happened too fast,” Constance explained. She took Athos’ elbow and moved him closer to the table. “This will have to do for now.”

“Yes, we can have a welcome home party for Chaz at a later date,” Aramis suggested. “Once he gets settled in.”

“I’m sure that Chuck would appreciate that,” Porthos grinned when Aramis glared at him.

“Boys, you are not arguing about the nickname of Athos’ brother before we even meet him,” Constance chided them. “Now, let’s help Athos get into the right frame of mind for Charlie’s arrival.”

In addition to the decorations, Constance and Aramis had also picked up food – sandwiches from Athos’ favorite deli, as well as the cake. There were even blue foil-wrapped cigars. Thankfully, those were chocolate.

“I should have realized that even having Aramis along wouldn’t cause you to take so long to get groceries.” Athos commented as he was encouraged to take a seat at the table.

Aramis stopped in the midst of helping himself to a sandwich. “I’m an excellent shopper,” he pouted.

“You’re an excellent flirter,” Porthos retorted. “You spend all your time checking out the other shoppers and if employee at the checkout is female, then God help the person in line behind you.”

“That’s the thing about grocery stores,” Aramis grinned. “There are just so many succulent choices.”

The banter continued while they ate. His friends were obviously trying to keep Athos’ spirits up and Athos was inclined to let them. They exchanged stories about when they were Charles’ age, Athos even opening up enough to tell them about the time he’d ripped the seat of his pants during a lacrosse game.

“You should start cleaning up,” Constance finally said. “We don’t want to be late.”

Athos had started to get up when the wording she used hit him. “We?”

Porthos scowled at him. “You didn’t think we were letting you go by yourself, did you?”

“No, I suppose not,” Athos should have realized it, but he just hadn’t given it much thought.

“Go, pretty yourself up,” Aramis shooed him towards the door. “We have things in hand down here.”

It was good advice and Athos moved to implement it. He carefully chose his suit before hopping into the shower. He wanted to look successful and capable of looking after his brother, but neither did he want to appear as though he were making a show of wealth. Athos ended up picking out a dark gray suit, a step above what he’d worn for his meeting with Torrez, but far from his most expensive either.

Too keyed up to enjoy the warm water of the shower, Athos stayed in only long enough to get clean. The mirror didn’t even have a chance to steam up. He wiped it off anyway, wanting to make sure he could see clearly to make sure his beard was perfectly trimmed. After that, he quickly got dressed and went back downstairs, less than half an hour having gone by since leaving his friends.

They, too, had been busy. The remnants of their lunch had been cleaned up and so had his colleagues. In fact, they were waiting for him, one with scissors in hand.

“Sit down,” Constance ordered even as Athos came through the door. “We have enough time to give you a quick trim. You’re looking a little shaggy.”

Since he’d been thinking the same himself, Athos willing sat in one of the chairs that surrounded the conference table and let her snip away. He didn’t bother looking after she was done, since Aramis, who was far more picky about such things, gave him a thumbs up gesture. By then it was 2 o’clock, a bare hour before his meeting with the judge.

“We better hit the road,” Porthos stated. “The courthouse is a hike from here.”

“And we don’t want to be late,” Aramis finished.

“Just whose meeting is this?” A smile played around Athos’ lips as he asked the question. The loyalty of his friends never ceased to amaze him.

That loyalty was a little less endearing when they got outside and the others insisted on all taking the same vehicle.

“What if I’m granted custody and Charles is handed over at the courthouse?” Athos protested. “There won’t be enough room for him on the way back. We should take two vehicles at least.”

“Not gonna happen,” Porthos brushed his concern aside. “If we need to, some of us will take a cab back.”

It was an argument that Athos clearly wasn’t going to win, so he quit trying. The ride to the courthouse was quiet, his friends sensing that Athos needed some mental space to prepare for the interview ahead. They parked and walked into the courthouse with a quarter hour to spare. Getting through the metal detector was quick, the friends having left all of their weapons back at the office. Before he was really ready to, Athos was checking in at an information desk.

“I have a 3 o’clock appointment with Judge Fredrick,” Athos told the man stationed there. “My name is Olivier Athos.”

The worker glanced up at him. “You’re early, that’s good. Judge Fredrick don’t approve of being late.”

“So I was warned,” Athos smiled wryly. Judge Fredrick had quite the reputation.

“ID, please.”

Athos handed it over and the security guard looked it carefully before giving it back.

“Her office is on the twelfth floor,” the man told him. He swiveled an appointment book so that if faced Athos. “Sign in here and then go to the elevators behind me. Only the party or parties with the appointment can proceed from here. There’s a cafeteria right over there if anyone needs to wait for you.”

Athos frowned, but he supposed the extra security was necessary. “Thank you.”

He walked back to his friends. “This is as far as you can go.”

“Ah, hell,” Porthos swore softly.

Aramis sighed. “That is most unfortunate.”

“You didn’t think you would actually be able to come to the meeting with me, did you?” Athos asked, touched by their loyalty even as he was amused.

“Just be yourself,” Aramis advised.

Constance quickly jumped in. “Maybe just a titch politer than yourself.” When the other two glared at her, she got a bit defensive. “Well, you know how he can get an expression like a wet cat when he hears something he doesn’t like. That wouldn’t be a good idea in this instance.”

“Ignore her.” Porthos put a hand on his shoulder. “You got this.”

At the moment, Athos believed him. “Yes, I do.”

With their words of encouragement buoying him, Athos got into the elevator and kept his face stoic as he realized they were watching the doors close. He sighed when he could no longer see them and instead concentrated on getting in the right frame of mind.

Once on the twelfth floor, he quickly navigated the corridors until he found the right office. It was a relief to realize that he was still a few minutes early. Even so, the young man behind the receptionist desk was clearly expecting him.

“Olivier Athos?”

“Yes,” Athos was careful not to show any of the distaste the use of his first name usually brought. In his mind, he gave Constance a salute. He could be polite when the occasion warranted and this occasion definitely did.

The young man spoke softly into his phone and then got up, motioning Athos to follow him. “If you could follow me, please.”

Athos immediately complied, concerned at how fast things were moving. Had he been late after all? As much as he tried to control his expression, however, some of his train of thought must have come through.

“Don’t worry, you were early, not late,” the receptionist assured him with a wink. “It’s just that Judge Fredrick is really eager to meet you.”

The young man’s friendliness was disarming in such an austere setting and Athos risked a question. “Is that a good sign or a bad one?”

“A good one, I think,” the other man stopped in front of a door. “I’m Scott, by the way. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Athos replied, but Scott was already several feet back down the corridor. Athos hoped it was because the young man was reluctant to leave his station unstaffed and not that he was afraid of who was behind the door.

With thoughts swirling in his head, Athos knocked on the door, careful to keep it firm, but not too firm. A clear, female voice called him to come in and, with a last deep breath, he entered the office.

Once inside, Athos was greeted by the tallest woman he’d ever seen. She appeared to be in her 60s, was African American and had a no-nonsense expression on her face that reminded him of his old drill sergeant.

“Mr. Athos, thank you for your punctuality. I’m Judge Fredrick,” were the judge’s first words to him. She was standing behind her desk and offered him her hand. He stepped forward immediately and shook it, not at all surprised that the woman had a firm handshake. “Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Athos thought it best to leave it at that as he moved to take the chair across from her. If the woman was more like his drill sergeant than just her expression, then she would want to be in utter control of their conversation.

The judge didn’t speak right away, just sat down and gave him a long, appraising look. It wasn’t the first time Athos had been scrutinized and he calmly looked back at her. After a moment, the woman broke the silence and Athos thought he saw the lines around her mouth soften a little, although he wouldn’t swear to it.

“I’m going to start off our conversation with something unusual for me – I’m going to apologize,” Judge Fredrick said, taking Athos completely off guard. “Your brother never should have been placed with James Castelmore. That man was clearly not capable of taking care of himself, let alone a child.”

“From what Ms. Royalton told me, I would completely agree,” Athos said softly. “Although I’m not sure I’m the one who deserves an apology for that.”

He immediately gave himself a mental slap. Chiding the woman was not the way this conversation should start. Thankfully, the judge didn’t seem to be offended.

“You’re right, of course,” she admitted. “And I’ve talked to Charles about it. Preference is usually given to kin placements, but Mr. Castelmore should have been researched more thoroughly.”

“What is Charles like?” Athos sat forward a little in his chair. “I’ve gotten a sense of him from his social worker, but I’d appreciate getting another point of view.”

The judge sighed. “And that’s another thing I need to apologize for and having to do that twice in one interview does not make me happy.” She waved off his instant concern. “I’m not upset with you, but with the decision not to bring you in earlier. CPS has known about your existence for months, but just told you about your brother on Friday? Just told the boy himself yesterday? Unacceptable.”

Although Athos thoroughly agreed, he also wanted to be careful. It was one thing for the judge to disparage the agency she worked so closely with, but if he did so too, she might get defensive. “It was something of a surprise, although I’m sure that Ms. Royalton acted out of Charles’ best interests.”

“There is a difference between falsely raising a child’s hopes and denying him the opportunity to hope in the first place,” the judge stated flatly. Athos fervently hoped she never had the reason to appear that unhappy with him. The drill sergeant was beginning to look like a pussycat. “You can trust me when I say that I’ve discussed that very point with Ms. Royalton. At length and in great detail.”

The judge shook her head. “Enough with the apologies, I have something else to tell you before we get started - I can’t abide liars.”

“No, ma’am, of course not,” Athos replied, a little nonplussed at the blunt statement.

“For your reference, by liar I also mean anyone who exaggerates, obfuscates and engages in general bull-shitting.” If Judge Fredrick noticed that Athos seemed startled by the profanity, she gave no indication. “More so, I’ve been doing this job for a long time and, like I told your brother, I have a finely tuned bullshit meter. Don’t even try it.”

“You told my 12 year-old brother that you have a bullshit meter?” Athos couldn’t help but blurt out.

The judge scoffed at him. “Of course not, I told him it was a hinky meter, but you and are grown-ups, Mr. Athos, and I can call it what it is. Besides, I can guarantee you that a 12 year-old that’s spent three years in the New York foster care system has heard far worse than bullshit.”

“Your brother,” the judge continued, addressing his earlier question, “is a very strong youngster. Right now, he’s pulled deep into himself, but I think with copious amounts of love and support, he’ll come out of his shell pretty quickly.” Her smile took years off her face. “And I think he’ll be a real pistol when he does too. There’s fire in that boy. It’s banked right now, but when he finally finds a place where he feels safe and loved again? Watch out.”

Athos sighed in relief. “That’s good to know.”

The judge cocked her head at him. “Thanks to the DA’s office, I have a lot more background material on you than I do of most custodial prospects, but nothing to indicate that you have any experience with children. So tell me, Mr. Athos, what makes you so sure that you’re prepared to take care of a boy that’s about to become a teenager?”

Keeping in mind her bullshit comments, Athos decided to be utterly honest with her. “I’m not at all prepared, but I’m willing to learn and have a lot of support.”

Judge Fredrick leaned over her desk and, given her height, managed to loom even though she was in a seated position. “And what makes you think that will be enough?”

Contrary to popular belief, Athos did have a considerable temper. It just didn’t seem that way because he kept it on a tight leash and was almost always able to think through even the most desperate of situations coolly and logically. When his temper came out, though, it came out loudly and strongly. At the judge’s open skepticism, it was a struggle to stay calm.

A silence lapsed while Athos tried to form a reply, but far from being offended, the judge started to smile. From there, the smile grew into a grin and the grin soon dissolved into a chuckle. Before Athos could really process what was happening, the judge was engaged in a belly laugh. For a moment, she seemed to get hold of herself and lifted a finger to point at him, but then started laughing even harder.

Athos didn’t know what to make of it.

When the judge’s outburst finally seemed to be slowing, Athos finally said something. “While I’m glad to have brought you some amusement, Judge, I would appreciate being let in on the joke so that I can laugh too.”

Judge Fredrick wiped at her eyes. “You’ve probably realized that you and your brother look absolutely nothing alike.”

“I’ve seen the pictures, yes,” Athos conceded. “Charles, in particular, takes after his mother.”

“You look so different that I’d even doubt you were related at all, if it weren’t for the fact that no less than six DNA tests have been done, at five different labs. Two of them were commissioned by CPS,” the judge told him. “All of them state that there’s a 99.9% chance that you share a parent.”

“So I’ve been told,” Athos commented, still not following her point.

“Until a minute ago, I would have said that the two of you look as different as it’s possible for two siblings to be, even half siblings,” the judge hadn’t stopped grinning. “But that expression on your face just now? The one that says ‘this woman is crazy, but I have to pretend that she’s not’? Charles has that exact same expression.”

Athos didn’t see the humor in it, but admitted that he was relieved to discover that there was some similarity between him and Charles. “I see.”

“I don’t think you do, but since that’s not technically bullshit, I’ll let it slide,” the judge got serious. “Let’s get back to business. I’ll rephrase the question – there’s no doubt that you’re a responsible, upstanding citizen and it appears that you want to do right by your brother. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, though, about paths paved with good intentions. What makes you think you’d be a good choice to raise a boy about to become a teenager?”

“I was a teenaged boy myself and not all that long ago,” Athos said slowly, giving himself time to think even as he spoke. “And I’ve experience being an older brother, although that didn’t turn out the way I would have liked.”

Athos had to clear his throat before continuing, thankful that the judge didn’t try to hurry him or to interrupt.

“As painful as Thomas’ death was, it taught me some things; most especially about who to trust and who to trust around the people I love.” As he talked, all the thoughts Athos had been having since learning of his brother’s existence began to coalesce. “I’ve been a private investigator for a number of years now and I’ve seen examples of what can go wrong with teenagers. I know that being open with love and support is a key element to raising a teen, as are the creation and enforcement of boundaries. I know that trust is a two way street, but that where the internet and social media are concerned, there is no such thing as too much monitoring; it’s simply too easy for children and teens to be preyed upon.”

He sat forward in his chair and did some looming of his own. “Most of all, I know loss. I know precisely what it feels like to lose everyone and everything you love, seemingly in an instant. Charles knows that too and he experienced it at a far younger age than I did. It took me a long time, but I learned how to pull myself out of that pit of despair and discovered how to make a new life. I had help along the way and, if given the opportunity, I will do the same for my brother. I can’t bring his parents back or recreate the life he had with them, but I can and will teach him how to build a new life. I will provide stability, safety and support and I will love him unconditionally. Everything else he and I will have to learn along the way.”

The judge’s face had softened as Athos spoke, but her words showed she wasn’t entirely swayed yet. “And what about his safety? The whole reason we know that the two of you are related is because your ex-wife tried to get custody of him. You told Ms. Royalton that you didn’t think she would try again; is Charles safe from her?”

Keeping the bullshit warning in mind, Athos chose the absolute truth. “No, Charles is not safe from her. Her first ploy was to insure that he came to my attention, but I don’t believe she’s done with him yet.” He met Judge Fredrick’s eyes squarely. “But I think he is far, far safer with someone who knows Anne Winter and is ready for her than he would be with a well-meaning but ill-prepared foster home.”

Judge Fredrick nodded. “As it happens, I agree with you.” Before Athos could process that statement, she went on. “I’m glad to hear you so passionate about helping your brother. I’ll be frank, Mr. Athos, I’m most concerned about Charles’ emotional well-being.”

Athos doubted that Judge Fredrick even knew how to be anything other than frank. “He has been through a lot, especially for someone his age.”

“I was tremendously relieved when Charles burst into tears this morning,” the judge went on to say. Athos’ mouth dropped, but before he could speak, she held up one finger, silencing the words of condemnation before they were uttered. “And it wasn’t that I like to make children cry. I was relieved because a boy that can cry isn’t broken yet; it means he hasn’t given up. That kind of child can still be reached and, given what Charles has been through, we are very, very lucky that’s still the case.”

“I see your point,” Athos admitted after he thought about her comments. 

Judge Fredrick leaned forward. “I get the vibe from you, Mr. Athos, that you’re a very controlled person and that’s why I was glad to see you get some emotion in you when talking about helping your brother. That’s another way I think you and Charles might be alike; you’ve both got these walls up to protect yourselves. Well, I[m here to tell you that you’re the adult. In order to help him, you’re going to have to show him that those walls are safe to come down. You cannot afford to be emotionally constipated with this boy.”

Emotionally constipated. God help Athos if Constance ever heard that phrase.

“I will endeavor not to be, Judge Fredrick,” Athos promised. “In that regard, I think I need Charles as much as he needs me. I have also felt the lack of blood family, although at least I’m old enough that it didn’t make me as vulnerable as Charles.”

The judge looked at him keenly. “Blood family?”  
“I may be poor in biological relatives,” Athos said proudly. “But I’m rich with chosen family. Two of the men I served with are brothers and my female colleague is a sister. They have been helping with my ‘constipation’ issues. I don’t know what I would have done without them since learning of Charles’ existence.”

“They’re the support you talked about earlier?” She asked.

“Yes, ma’am.” Athos confirmed. “Charles wouldn’t just gain one brother should he come live with me; he’d gain three and a sister too.”

“Very good.” Judge Fredrick folded her hands on top of her desk. “I think I’ve covered just about everything, unless you have any questions?”

Questions? Athos wasn’t sure where to start, but since most of them involved an assumption he’d be awarded custody of his brother, didn’t want to appear to be cocky.

“I have more questions than I know how to articulate, Judge Fredrick.” Athos admitted, deciding to again go with honesty. “But since most of them are predicated on whether or not you’ll allow my brother to come live with me or not, I suppose they’re premature.”

Judge Royalton didn’t smile at him, although the wrinkles around her eyes deepened a little, as though she wanted to. “All right then. I will see you in my courtroom at 4:30 and I’ll advise you not to be late.”

Athos stood and offered her his hand, which she shook without hesitation. “Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

He turned to leave, but her voice called him back. “Mr. Athos? You can call me Judge Freddy.” She dug a card out of her desk and wrote something on it before handing it to him. “And if you should think of any of those questions later – any at all – feel free to call me. I’ve given you my personal cell number. Don’t lose it.”

Being no dummy, Athos didn’t have to be told that he’d not only just been given a rare privilege, but also a hint as to what the verdict in the courtroom was likely to be. “Thank you, Judge Freddy.”

It was with a somewhat dazed expression that Athos saw himself out of the office and made his way back to the small lobby. He nodded to Scott, the receptionist, before heading towards the elevator. He was still slightly out of it when he exited and headed towards the cafeteria. Luckily, it didn’t take any effort to find his friends. They’d chosen a table closest to the elevators and were waiting for him. Without a word, Athos sat down.

“Well?” Constance was the first to speak. “What happened?”

Athos rubbed his forehead. “Judge Fredrick might just be the most frightening woman I’ve ever met.”

Porthos whistled. “She must be, if she’s got you of all people that shook up.”

Aramis slid a cup of coffee to Athos, who picked it up gratefully and took a sip. It was strong and bitter, just the way he liked it. He took a few more sips, feeling more grounded as the caffeine revived him.

“I think,” Athos spoke slowly. He didn’t want to jinx anything, but neither could he deny the strong impression he’d gotten from his meeting. “I think it went well.”

“Did the judge let anything slip?” Constance pressed for more detail. 

“She didn’t tell me anything more about what went on at Charles’ latest foster home,” Athos said. “But she was very concerned about Charles having a supportive environment where he could heal. This may be one instance where my history of loss might work in my favor. I shall find out her decision in the court room.” He glanced up at the clock on a nearby wall. “In about twenty minutes.”

“There is no way in hell that the foster system is a better option than you.” Porthos stated flatly. “She would be an absolute fool to not give you custody.”

Aramis’ expression was unusually serious. “And did she strike you as being a fool, Athos?”

Athos shook his head. “No, not at all. Judge Fredrick is as far from being a fool, I think, as it is possible to be.”

“Well, then, we’ve nothing to wo-. . . . ouch!” Aramis broke off what he was going to say when both Porthos and Constance smacked an arm.

“Don’t say it,” Constance warned him. “You are not going to jinx us again. Not on this; it’s too important.”

Aramis sighed, but didn’t protest further. “Then I’ll just point out that things look promising.” He gave Porthos and Constance an exasperated glance. “Is that acceptable?”

Constance smiled at him primly. “Perfect.”

“Drink up, man,” Porthos instructed Athos. “You don’t want to be late for court.”

Athos did as instructed. Thankfully his coffee was cool enough that he could gulp it down without burning his throat. It only took a few moments to empty the cup, which he set back on the table with a thump. “I’m ready.”

They stopped again at the information desk to find out where the courtroom was. Athos was relieved that there was no chitchat as they made their way to the appointed room. He was wound as tightly as he could ever remember. He reminded himself that Ann Royalton thought it very likely that the judge would award him custody of his brother and that was the vibe he got from the judge herself. Still, Athos had been disappointed in his life often enough that he didn’t want to get his hopes up too much. 

The bailiff nodded at them as they entered the courtroom. “Judge Fredrick is still in conference, but don’t worry, she’ll get things started on time.” She smiled. “I don’t think she knows how to be late.”

As a private investigator, Athos’ work sometimes involved him testifying in court. Given the number of runaway cases they’d handled, he’d even testified in family court, although not with Judge Fredrick presiding. He’d never appreciated before that family court was slightly less formal than other types of courtrooms. It made sense, he supposed, since family court had been developed with the best interests of children in mind and children would probably find a traditional courtroom intimidating.

There was still a raised dais for the judge, but there was no jury box and very little room for spectators to sit. There was room for a witness chair and the official record keeper, as well as two tables arranged in front of the judge. Things with Charles had moved so fast that Athos hadn’t even had a chance to meet the lawyer that DeFoix had recommended. It wasn’t an issue, however, since he wouldn’t need a lawyer for the custody determination. Only if Judge Fredrick decided against placing Charles with Athos would there be a need for that, because Athos had already determined that he would fight tooth and nail to bring his brother home where he belonged.

Shortly after the four friends seated themselves, all of them sitting in the spectator section, Ann Royalton came out of a side door. She smiled when she saw that they were present and gestured Athos towards the table on the left. She took a seat behind the table to the right. With a last glance at his friends, Athos did as she silently asked.

No sooner than he’d sat down then Judge Fredrick was announced and everyone stood. The judge swept into the room, her blue dress covered by a judge’s black robe. If anything, the robe made her even more impressive than before. “Be seated.”

Athos and his friends were the only ones present, save for Ann Royalton and court personnel. It didn’t take long for them to get settled and for the judge to begin.

“The issue in front of this court today is the guardianship of Charles Castelmore, a juvenile male residing in the city of New York and currently in the care of the state,” Judge Freddy began. “I’m not one to draw things out, so I’ll begin by stating that I have determined that provisional guardianship shall be awarded to his brother, Olivier Athos.”

Athos grinned from ear to ear. He’d had a feeling that the judge would rule in his favor and Ann Royalton had also hinted that it was likely to be the case, but Athos felt a deep sense of unfettered joy at hearing the words from the judge herself. From the sounds behind him, his friends were equally happy. He heard a faint squeal from Constance, a loud “WhooHOO!” from Aramis and the slap on the back was strong enough that it could only have been delivered by Porthos.

He turned to look at them, but a loud bang from the front of the room forestalled his motion.

“Young man!” Judge Freddy was glaring directly at Aramis. “There is a time and a place for that sort of outburst and this is not it.” She shook her head at him. “Those eyes might have worked on your mama, but they don’t on me. You have two options – behave or leave.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ararmis’ voice was as cowed as Athos had ever heard it. He would have dearly loved to have seen the look on his friend’s face, but didn’t dare turn around. “I’ll behave.”

“See that you do,” the judge turned a considerably friendlier look on Athos. “Now, I’ll repeat that it is provisional guardianship, Mr. Athos. What that means is that in one month, you and Charles will both be back here for a chat. If things are going well for both of you, then I’ll see you again in six months. If it’s still going well, I’ll see you one last time after a total of a year has gone by. Again, if everything is satisfactory, guardianship will be made permanent and the state will bow out.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Athos said, but the judge shook her head again.

“Don’t thank me yet, there are some strings attached.” She told him. “First, you will be subject to random inspections and I guarantee you that after what happened in Charles’ last foster home, those will mostly definitely happen.” At the table next to him, Ann Royalton nodded. “Another requirement is for Charles to get some counseling. Frankly, it’s a crime he hasn’t had access to it before, but I think the assumption was that his first guardian, his uncle, would have seen to it and we both know how that turned out. Since the state is mandating it, one of our counselors will be made available to you. Mr. Athos, you will move heaven itself if it’s necessary to get Charles to those appointments, am I making myself clear?”

“Crystal, ma’am.” Athos nodded.. If there was even a remote chance that counseling would help Charles, then Charles would go. 

The judge still wasn’t done. “Similarly, Charles has some special nutritional needs. Ms. Royalton will go into it with you in more detail, but the long and the short of it is that you, Mr. Athos, will be seeing a nutritionist for an educational session. I expect to see more weight on Charles in a month.”

Athos frowned, not upset at the condition, but concerned about what had caused it. “Of course.”

“For the duration of this month trial period, you’re not to take Charles out of the state of New York,” the judge informed him. “After that, it’s a possibility, but only if you make prior arrangements with Ms. Royalton.”

“Understood, ma’am,” Athos nodded. He hadn’t even considered taking Charles on a trip yet. In fact, he hadn’t considered much beyond getting custody.

“And last but not least,” the judge folded her hands in front of you. “I want to formally thank you, Mr. Athos, on behalf of the court and myself. You’re certainly not the first family member I’ve seen step up to the plate when a child they’re related to was in need, but rarely have I seen one presented with such a confounding surprise and yet move so quickly to provide that child a home. You are to be commended.”

Athos felt himself blush. “Thank you, Judge Fredrick.”

The judge frowned at him. “I thought I told you to call me Judge Freddy?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Athos saw Ann Royalton physically startle and her gasp of surprise was clear for him to hear.

“Sorry, Judge Freddy,” Athos smiled as he obediently corrected himself. “Thank you.”

The judge looked beyond Athos to where his friends were sitting. “This would be the time and place where you can whoohoo.”

His friends did just that, applauding and, in the case of the men, pounding Athos on the back. Constance just pulled him down for a quick kiss on the cheek.

“This session is adjourned,” the judge’s smile was wide as she stepped off of the dais. “Mr. Athos, I will see you in a month.”

Rather than leaving, Judge Freddy walked over to the table that Athos was at. He stood at her approach and so was ready when the judge held out a hand. She shook his enthusiastically.

“Off the record, I think that Charles is a very lucky young man,” Judge Freddy told him and from the way her eyes took in the small group of Athos’ friends, she was including them in her comment.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” Athos replied.

She snorted. “We’ll see what you say in a month. Charles has been hurt, Mr. Athos, and sometimes children in pain can be a little difficult.”

“I understand,” Athos replied. “But I’m stubborn and I’m a soldier. We don’t leave a man behind and I will not leave my brother behind, no matter if he proves difficult or not.”

“I have faith in you, Mr. Athos,” the judge said, but her face became serious again. “I recommend that you not prove my faith to have been misplaced, because God have mercy on you if anything happens to this child while under your care. I certainly will not.”

“Nothing will happen to that boy,” Porthos’ deep voice came from behind Athos. “We won’t let it.”

She nodded at them. “See that it doesn’t.” Her last comment was directed at Athos again. “I will see you in a month – and don’t forget that phone number I gave you. Use it if you need it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Athos inclined his heads towards her and, with a sweep of her robes, the judge left the room.

“What a woman,” Aramis exclaimed softly. As one, the other turned to look at him. “What? I bet she was an Amazon back in the day. I wish I could have known her in her prime.”

“Something tells me that Judge Fredrick is always in her prime,” Constance said archly. 

“Athos, congratulations!” Ann Royalton approached, with a large smile on her face. “You did it.”

Athos couldn’t help but smile back at her. Then again, he didn’t think his smile had left his face since Judge Freddy had made her pronouncement, meaning that he’d smiled more in the last five minutes than he had in the previous five years.

“We have some details we need to go over,” the social worker told him. “Let me guess, I need to find an office that won’t fit just the two of us, but will accommodate five people.”

“That might be wise,” Athos said dryly. “If it’s not a problem, that is.”

Ann’s smile widened. “As of five minutes ago, you’re Charles’ guardian and it’s completely up to you who you want part of this meeting. Don’t worry, though, there’s a conference room that will work. Follow me.”

“Not so fast,” Porthos growled. When Athos turned towards him, the big man suddenly growled and pulled Athos in for a fierce hug. His voice, though, when he spoke, was a soft whisper meant only for Athos. “Told you that you had it.”

“You did.” Athos’ response was equally as quiet. “Thank you.”

When Porthos let go, Aramis grabbed Athos by the elbow and wrapped his arms around him, embracing him just as thoroughly as Porthos had moments before. “Well done, my friend.”

“Hey, give over, my turn!” Constance demanded. Aramis let go and stepped back.

“You kissed me already,” Athos reminded her even as she squeezed him tightly.

Constance made an irritated sound. “And now I’m hugging you. Deal with it.”

Ann Royalton was waiting for them, an amused look on her face. Athos became embarrassed at the surfeit of displays of affection and felt a blush creep up his face. “We’re keeping the social worker waiting.”

After Constance released him, Althos meekly approached Ann. “After you.”

The social worker led the group to a nearby conference room. She ushered them in and took a seat at the head of the table. Athos and his friends arranged themselves in the various chairs, with the other s making sure that Athos had the seat closest to Ann. She took a pile of paperwork out of her bag and placed it in front of her.

“Before we get started, I want to echo what Judge Fredrick said,” Ann told him. “I couldn’t be more pleased that Charles will be living with you. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the best possible outcome.”

“Thank you,” Athos said politely and then got right down to business. “Where is Charles now and when can I meet him?”

“He’s waiting in the building next door and you’ll be able to meet him in a couple of hours.”

Aramis shifted in his seat. “Not right away? I thought the judge say that Athos had custody?”

“She did and he does,” Ann explained, clearly not at all offended at the question. In fact, she seemed almost apologetic as she addressed the rest of her words towards Athos. “After all the upheaval Charles has experienced in the last 24 hours, I thought it might be best for me to break the news to him and then take him out for dinner before bringing him to your apartment. That will give him a little time to get used to the idea.”

“I thought he knew this might be a possibility?” Athos asked, concerned. “Will he be upset at this outcome?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Ann shook her head. “In fact, after his talk with the judge, I think he was a lot more open to the possibility. It’s just exactly what I said – a lot has happened to him in only one day. It may not seem like much, but even a couple of hours before he’s delivered to you might help him adjust a little bit better.”

“Delivered?” Constance muttered. “He’s a child, not a package.”

“I think what Ms. Royalton means is that she’s going to personally escort Charles to the apartment herself,” Porthos ventured. “That’s SOP for introducing a new foster home. Supposed to help foster kids feel safer.”

And it wasn’t what happened last time with the Duras family. They all thought it, although none of them voiced the comment.

“Exactly,” Ann flashed Porthos a grateful look. “I know you’re anxious too, but I really think it might be the best for Charles. Remember, this is the first meeting in what will be a lifelong relationship; you want to make sure it gets off to the right foot.”

Athos sighed, not pleased but understand the logic. “I’ll defer to your experience.” His glance, though, made it clear that he was referring to Porthos as much as he was Ann Royalton.

“What about dessert?” Constance suggested, seemingly out of nowhere. “If you’re taking Charles out for supper, what if Athos has dessert back at his apartment? Sort of a welcome home gesture.”

Ann Royalton beamed. “I think that’s an excellent idea, although I would recommend keeping the gathering both small and informal. The last thing Charles needs is to feel like a spectacle.”

“Understood,” Athos gave Constance a grateful look. “It’ll be just the four of us – Charles will need to be introduced to his entire family.”

“Of course, I would expect nothing less,” Ann was every inch the professional social worker, but then she changed her demeanor. “Did Judge Fredrick really tell you to call her Judge Freddy?”

Athos looked at Ann in disbelief. “Do I look stupid enough to call her that without express permission?”

“No, of course not,” the social worker was flustered. “It’s just that it’s utterly unprecedented. Occasionally Judge Fredrick will extend that offer to a child, but I’ve never, ever heard of hear doing it for an adult. You must have made quite the impression.”

“Of course he did,” Aramis looked smug. “He’s Athos, after all.”

Ann’s expression looked less than amused. “Be that as it may, you should also be aware that Judge Fredrick did the same for Charles and that means she’s taken a special interest, which in turn means that she’ll scrutinize everything to do with him even more closely than normal.”

Athos wasn’t concerned. After all, he did have his brother’s best interests at heart. “I welcome it. Now, I believe you have some details to give me? Let’s start with what truly went on in Charles’ last foster home.” He didn’t let on that he knew the names of Josette and Robert Duras, wanting to know if what she was about to tell him lined up with the little they’d been able to dig up so far.

“Josette and Robert Duras,” Ann Royalton said after taking a deep breath. “I told you about the major infraction, that recreational drugs were found in the home. Apparently those were brought in by their adult daughter, Emily. That was another infraction, by the way, and one you should be careful of too. You’re not prohibited from bringing anyone else to live in the residence while on this probationary period, but you are required to notify CPS so that we can do a background check.”

“And that wasn’t done with this Emily,” Athos commented.

“No, the Durases didn’t tell us that their daughter was living at the house and they certainly didn’t say anything about the drugs.”

Athos could see the woman becoming uncomfortable, but pressed her anyway. “That’s the infraction I know about. You said there were others and Judge Freddy indicated that you’d be explaining as to why it will be necessary for me to learn about nutrition.” 

He had a sickening feeling the two issues were related, although once Ann told him the details, Athos realized that he wasn’t truly prepared to hear them after all.

“When we inspected the house,” Ann’s voice had a slight tremor in it. At first, Athos thought it was due to nerves, but as he took a closer look at her face, realized that the woman was livid. “It was discovered that Mrs. Duras kept the refrigerator locked and that the children were strictly limited on their food intake.”

Porthos growled and, startled, she glanced nervously at him before continuing. “That’s another reason why Charles was seen by a doctor this morning. Dr. Archibald fell short of describing Charles as malnourished, but he did note a failure to thrive and that Charles is far too thin.” She sighed. “Charles has always been thin, but at the moment it’s to the point of being gaunt.”

“And you would have noticed this lock had you inspected the home before placing Charles there.” It wasn’t a question and the mild tone of voice that Athos stated it in had all three of his friends looking at him in concern. Athos was at his absolute mildest right before he exploded.

“Yes, I would have,” Ann met his gaze firmly and in her eyes, Athos saw a fury that matched his own. “And I will never, ever forgive myself for that.”

Athos nodded in acknowledgement of her statement. For a woman of Ann Royalton’s caliber, that guilt would be a punishment that would never end. “And what else?”

Ann looked sad. “Charles’ bedroom did not have a door on it, not so much as a curtain.”

It wasn’t until Porthos started swearing under his breath, nonstop and viciously, that the implications occurred to Athos.

“Was he molested?” Athos forced himself to ask.

To his immense relief, the social worker shook her head. “We don’t think so.” She sighed. “That’s the true reason I couldn’t be in the exam room with Charles this morning, a specially trained CPS representative was there instead. Given Charles’ responses to their questions and his general physical condition, Dr. Archibald kept the exam to an absolute minimum of invasiveness. He and my CPS colleague feel that Charles’ responses clearly indicate that he wasn’t molested in any way. The damage from the lack of privacy seems to be purely emotional.”

“What does that mean?” Constance was quick to ask.

Ann’s lips pursed in distaste. “Apparently Josette Duras frequently told Charles that boys were nasty creatures and if they were given too much time alone that they would do nasty things.”

“Gimme five minutes alone with that bitch,” Porthos snarled.

“Stand in line, Mr. Vallon,” the social worker responded before Athos could and with a distaste for the foster mother that rivaled Athos’ own. “If I never do another thing during my career with CPS, I will make sure those two are never again allowed to take care of children, foster or otherwise. In fact, I will push to have them prosecuted for child endangerment.”

Athos made a mental note never to cross the delicate-seeming woman. Obviously she had more steel in her than expected. “On what grounds?”

“Emily Duras attacked my colleague and me,” Ann explained. “Not with a weapon, with a broom, but it was still an attempted assault. Her parents having her knowingly in the house, along with the drugs, can be considered child endangerment.” Ann managed to smile at him. “As I told you this morning, you should be proud of Charles. He immediately moved to shield the other children, both younger girls, and kept them calm.”  
“A brave boy,” Athos did feel proud, which was odd since he’d never met his brother.

“An officer interviewed the kids at the house, but it’s possible that they’ll want to follow up later.” Ann told him. “If so, I’ll let you know.”

Athos nodded. “Certainly, although I’ll probably want to get the advice of Charles’ counselor before I agree to further questioning.”

“Of course,” Ann didn’t seem to find any fault with that. “Now, enough about Charles’ past; let’s talk about his future.”

Ann took out was an impressive-looking document from the pile she’d placed in front of herself. “This is the formal statement that you’re now Charles’ guardian and states the provisions that Judge Fredrick outlined earlier. I suggest you make copies for when you need to establish your credentials where Charles is concerned and keep the original in a safe place.”

She handed the document to Athos, who immediately gave it to Constance. Of the three of them, she was the only one with a purse and Athos didn’t want the document bent or folded.

Ann continued by pulling out a folder. “Because Charles is technically still a ward of the state, he’s covered under the state health care. Here are his cards and information on the clinic where’s he been seen since entering the foster care system.” She looked up at Athos with a pleading expression. “Charles has seen Dr. Archibald from the beginning; he’s probably been the most stable influence in Charles’ life since his father died.”

Athos didn’t need to be told anything else. “I’ll see to it that he continues to be Charles’ doctor.”

“I think that’s best, at least during this time of transition” her smile was full of relief. “There’s also a card in here for the nutritionist that Judge Fredrick is requiring that you see. Apparently Dr. Archibald wants to make sure that Charles not only gains some weight, but does so in a healthy way.”

“We’ll see to it,” Aramis confirmed as he took care of the health care folder. Since he’d been the medical sergeant when they were still in the Special Forces, he had the most medical-related experience.

“Lastly, I have the information for you on Charles’ school,” Ann handed over a sheet that had an address on it and very little else. “I think it’s wonderful that you’re willing to try and keep Charles in the same school for the rest of the year; he’s already had to change once when he was placed with the Durases. However, Charles doesn’t appear to be all that fond of the school and I’ve yet to hear him mention any friends. I know that St. George isn’t very close to the neighborhood you live in, so should the commute become too much, Judge Fredrick has already authorized you to pull Charles from school. There is an online alternative he can use to finish out the year. Frankly, Charles is rather withdrawn and so I don’t think that would be a good option for him in the long run, but given the circumstances, it wouldn’t hurt for now if it becomes necessary.”

The social worker smiled compassionately. “I know I just threw a lot of information at you. Do you have any questions?”

Athos looked at his friends, who seemed as overwhelmed as he did. “I’m sure I’ll think of ten as soon as we part, but at the moment I just have one – what can I expect tonight?”

Ann sighed. “That’s a good question. Charles is no stranger to being re-homed, but he also knows the stakes are higher with this one because it’s hopeful that this is the last time. Add to that the trauma he’s had in the last 24 hours, I think you can expect your brother to be. . . . tentative.”

“That’s social worker speak for scared spitless,” Porthos helpfully supplied.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Ann shot Porthos a disapproving look. “But I think Charles is understandably nervous about meeting his older brother.”

Constance smiled. “Athos is a teddy bear.”

“A sometimes prickly teddy bear,” Aramis agreed. “Perhaps more like a hedgehog.”

Athos gave them a quelling look before turning back to the social worker. “My apologies, Ann, you were saying?”

“I recommend that you take things slowly the first couple of days. Plan some fun activities that will give you common ground to talk about.” She looked embarrassed. “I don’t know if you’d categorize it as fun, but you’ll probably need to do some shopping as well. Charles doesn’t have many things and his wardrobe is especially limited.” 

Constance’s face lit up and Athos’ lips twitched in a smile. “Yes, you can help,” he said, even though she hadn’t asked yet.

“As if you could stop me,” Constance scoffed.

“You’ll need to stop by Charles’ school by the end of the week as well so you can pick up any work that he’s missed. I’ll inform them of Charles’ change in living arrangements. Anything else?”

Athos ran his hand through his hair. “Not at the moment.”

“All right.” Ann became quite businesslike, packed up her bag and stood to leave. “I’ll go collect Charles and get him something to eat. He’s been cooped up for a couple of hours, so I’m sure he’s anxious to find out what the verdict is. Shall I bring him by your apartment at eight? Will that give you enough time?”

It was nearly five o’clock, which gave Athos approximately three hours until his life was to irrevocably change. “Absolutely.”

“Wonderful, I look forward to seeing you at eight,” Ann smiled at all of them and took her leave.

The conference room lapsed into silence. Athos took a shaky breath and turned to face his friends. “Thank you, I don’t know what I would have done with - . . . .”

“Shut it,” Porthos moved forward and wrapped his hand around the back of Athos’ neck. He pulled the other man to him so that their foreheads were touching. Whether Porthos made a gesture that Athos couldn’t see or if they just did it instinctively, Aramis and Constance joined in.

“You are not alone, friend,” Aramis added. “Never that.”

Constance’s voice trembled. “Silly hedgehog, we’re here.”

So strong was their support that, after only a few moments, Athos felt comfortable enough to pull back. “All right, enough. We have a younger brother to welcome home.”

“That’s the spirit,” Aramis enthused, although his eyes were suspiciously bright. “Now we just have to figure out a dessert that is sufficiently scrumptious to show young Charles how excited we all are to bring him to the family.”

“Kiss.” Constance suggested.

“Kiss?” Aramis raised his eyebrows. “Normally, I’m in favor, but the boy is only 12.”

Constance rolled her eyes. “I meant Keep It Simple, Stupid. Charles is a boy and if he’s anything like my brothers were at that age, scrumptious isn’t necessary. Any dessert will do because he’ll just inhale it anyway.”

“She’s right,” Porthos added. “How about just cake and ice cream? Most foster kids aren’t used to the fancy stuff anyway.”

“They’re right,” Aramis admitted. He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he had when he was embarrassed. “If his last foster home was restricting the food the kids received, Charles’ system may not be able to handle anything too rich anyway. I should have thought of that.”

“All right, cake and ice cream it is.” Athos, known for keeping a cool head in most situations, was suddenly very eager to go. “We should make haste.”

The group lost little time in leaving the building and retrieving the SUV. The ride back to the office was lively, all of them a little giddy at the judge’s decision. As a point of conversation, they latched on to Ann Royalton’s suggestion of any fun activities that Athos and Charles could do over the next few days as an ice breaker. Unfortunately, Athos needed the help. Outside of work, his idea of a good time generally involved wine, either in public with friends at a bar or in private alone curled up with a good book. Neither were appropriate activities to share with a child.

“He’s a twelve year-old boy,” Porthos scoffed at Constance’s latest suggestions. “They only time they look forward to museums is as field trips and it means getting out of classes. Otherwise, all that old stuff’s boring.”

“Or when they’re old enough to appreciate that many of the girls enjoy museums and can capitalize on that by pretending to be interested in order to impress the fairer sex,” Aramis added. “But I’m guessing that Charles is too young for that yet.”

Athos ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He didn’t have to have a mirror to know that it was messy, he’d made the gesture so often. Perhaps he’d have to consider wearing his hair shorter, at least until Charles turned 18, or get used to perpetually looking like he had a case of bed head.

“The problem is that we don’t know much about the boy himself,” Athos finally drew the conversation to a close, right about the time they reached the office again. “I think tomorrow we can count on the boy settling in during the morning and then shopping in the afternoon. By then, we should have a better feel for what he likes and can plan something appropriate for Friday.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Constance agreed.

“Except for the shopping part,” Porthos teased, a glint in his eye as he glanced at their lone female member. “Constance might just scare him off.”

“Right,” Constance retorted. “Like I’m the biggest shopper in this bunch. Aramis has more clothes than I do and let’s not get started on the designer labels that you spend your money on.”

Porthos ran a hand over his jacket. “I do like to look nice.”

“Children, please.” Athos interrupted, slightly exasperated. “Constance phoned in a cake order while we were on our way back, someone will need to pick that up and, since the bakery isn’t likely to have ice cream, it would be best for someone else to buy some.” He looked at Constance. “Unless I have some in my freezer?”

“You do,” Constance informed him. “Neapolitan, since we couldn’t agree on whether to get vanilla or chocolate and there wasn’t room for both.”

“I’ll need to change clothes again, something more casual so that Charles will be more at ease,” Athos said. “Then . . . . what? I have no idea what to do until the social worker and Charles gets here.”

“You’re forgetting something,” Aramis reminded him, a slight smile on his lips.

Athos counted each item off on his fingers. “Cake, ice cream, clothes. What am I forgetting?”

“You have to eat supper too,” Porthos pointed out. “We all should. Don’t want to meet your brother on an empty stomach – fainting makes a bad impression.”

“Right, food.” Athos took stock of his physical condition and then shook his head. “Not hungry.”

Porthos wrapped an arm around Athos’ shoulders, steering him towards the building. “There’ll be no more of that. You’ll have a little brother underfoot from now on; you have to set a good example. We’ll call in an order to Mama O’s and I can pick it up when I go get the cake. Comfort food is what you need right now and Mama O is the best at that.”

“Can’t,” Athos absently shook his head, trying to remember if he’d left his bathroom clean after taking his second shower. “I’ve been told that there will be no more deliveries until I’ve shown my face in the restaurant itself. I would assume that would be true of pick up as well.”

“It has been a while since we’ve been in,” Constance said. She looked pointedly at Aramis. “Athough I don’t think that’s your fault, Athos.”

Aramis threw his hands up. “That’s hardly my fault. Violetta is lovely girl, but - . . . .”

“Your status as a bachelor is safe, as I’ve also been informed that the fair Violetta now has a fiance,” Athos interrupted him. “Mama O will no longer be looking at you as a potential son-in-law, all of her daughters are now accounted for.”

“That’s a relief,” Aramis sighed dramatically. “It’s been torture being cut off from Mama’s chicken saltimbocca, much less her tiramisu.” He looked at Athos expectantly. “I don’t suppose we have time . . . .?”

Athos shook his head. “No, we do not have time to go to the restaurant for supper. Once Mama got wind of my brother’s existence, and we all know she very quickly would, we would be held captive for hours answering her questions.”

“Oh, but what a captivity,” Porthos had a dreamy look in his eye. “We’d be force-fed crusty bread and alfredo sauce until we popped.”

“Maybe you could take Charles for dinner there tomorrow,” Constance suggested. “For tonight, I seem to remember a decent Thai place next to the bakery.

Constance’s suggestion was a sensible one and that’s what they ended up doing. While Athos changed clothes, the others stopped in at the office briefly to check for email and messages. Aramis went for the food instead of Porthos and insisted that Constance come with him. When Athos joined his remaining colleague back in the office, he found out why.

“Is there anything else you’d like to ask?” Porthos leaned back in his seat, the picture of ease, but someone who knew him as well as Athos did could see the underlying tension.

Athos didn’t need to ask what Porthos was referring to.

“How frightened is he likely to be?” Athos picked the chair across the table from Porthos. They’d decided to eat in the office because Thai food could sometimes be pungent and no one had wanted Charles’ first impression of his new living space to be that it smelled.

Porthos shrugged. “Depends on the kid. He’s only been in the system three years, but from what the records showed, Charles has had his fair share of foster homes. The first few days are always rough, as you try to get a feel for the rules of the house and the personalities of the people who run it. That’s just as true for a place with a husband and wife as it is for a group home.”

“Ann said that he handled the Emily situation well, but that experience had to have shaken Charles up,” Athos mused. “Maybe brought up some bad feelings from being around another adult who had an addiction?”

“Maybe.” Porthos scrubbed at his face and Athos couldn’t help but wonder if his friend was trying to erase some memories of his own. “Shit. Make that probably.”

“So the best case scenario is likely that Charles will be cautious and worst case is that he’ll be terrified,” Athos summarized. 

Porthos nodded. “Pretty much. Every new home was a new chance to get a good family, but it didn’t take long to learn that it was also a chance to get one of the bad ones. And you never really knew what you’d ended up with until the social worker wasn’t around. It was like being on pins and needles until your new foster parents showed their true colors.

Athos considered him for a moment. “Thus the lock on the door.”

“Thus the lock on the door,” Porthos echoed. “What you really need is time. As he gets to know you, Charles’ll start to relax.”

“Time.” Athos sighed. “I only have a month and I’m not exactly the likeable type.”

“You have the rest of your lives to get to know one another, the month’s just an arbitrary trial period the judge set up to make sure you’re not a serial killer or something,” Porthos scowled. “Besides, what’s this about not being likeable? I like you. So do Aramis and Constance.”

Athos smiled, appreciating his friend’s attempts to support him and not able to resist teasing a little. “Yes, but the three of you are insane, so that doesn’t count.”

Porthos looked like he would have protested more, but Aramis and Constance returned. 

“We have arrived and we have food,” Aramis announced as they entered the office. He was laden with bags of Thai food.

Constance was right behind him. “The cake turned out well, even if it was last minute.”

The cake was in a box with a clear top and Constance angled it so that Athos and Porthos could see. The frosting was white, with blue writing that said ‘Welcome Home Little Brother.” Instead of flowers, it had more boy-friendly decorations of colorful kites. “I wasn’t sure if he preferred Charles or Charlie, so I went with something else.”

“It’s perfect,” Athos agreed.

Porthos, however, hadn’t entirely been distracted from their previous conversation. “Athos thinks we like him because we’re insane.”

“Of course we are,” Aramis agree amicably. “We’re positively bonkers.”

Constance huffed. “Speak for yourself.” She looked at Athos. “If we’re insane so are Treville, my brother, your old commander, Bonnie, Agnes, Mama O- . . . .”

Athos couldn’t take it anymore. “All right, all right, I get the idea.” 

“Idiot,” Aramis said, but he was smiling.

“I thought I was a hedgehog?” Athos asked.

Aramis’ smile grew. “You can’t be both?”

Athos knew it was time to change the subject. “Let’s eat.”

Afterwards, Athos couldn’t have said what it was that he ate, although he assumed that Aramis and Constance had gotten everyone’s favorites. He was aware that his friends kept the conversation light in an attempt to distract him, but it didn’t work. Athos was aware of every minute that went by, although in defiance of physics, each second seemed to both fly by quickly as well as taking an eternity to pass. 

Eventually, however, it was 7:30.

“I want to get upstairs,” Athos said, crumpling up his paper napkin. “In case they’re early.”

No one protested and Athos suspected that his friends were as anxious as he was. Fortunately, the clean-up was easy enough. All they had to do was gather up the various containers and bags and toss them in the garbage on the way out. 

Once upstairs, Athos first went to Charles’ room. Logically, he knew it unlikely that any rabid squirrels had broken into the apartment while he’d been gone and made a mess, but he wanted to be sure. He turned the light on and breathed a sigh of relief; everything was just as he left it. That included the framed photos on the table by the bed. He walked over and looked at the images.

“I’ll take care of him,” he promised the images of Charles’ parents. “I can’t promise that it’ll always be pretty or that I’ll finish raising him as well as you would have, but I do promise that Charles’ life with me will be far better than foster care.”

As promises went, it wasn’t the most impressive, but it was the best Athos could do at the moment.

Checking on his brother’s bedroom hadn’t taken long and when Athos went back to the kitchen, the others were still in the process of setting out the cake and arranging plates. Too restless to help, Athos went back to the other side of the apartment. He checked on his own bedroom. No doubt he’d be giving Charles a tour of the whole place and wanted to make sure it was tidy. Since it was, he was soon back with the others.

“Sit down,” Porthos got between Athos and the hallway when Athos started to head that way again. “You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet.”

“Look, there’s a soccer game on.” Aramis had turned on the TV and immediately found a sports channel.

“How is there always a soccer game on?” Athos complained, letting Porthos gently shove him towards a chair.

Constance was unhappily perched on the other seat. “That’s what I’d like to know.” She took a closer look the players on the screen. “On the other hand, they do have lovely legs.”

It was sheer force of will that kept Athos in his seat. He wanted to keep pacing, but Porthos had been right to stop him. It wasn’t doing any good. Time would pass in the usual way and nothing he could do would make it move any faster.

The last few minutes before 8 o’clock passed slowly and it started to get dark outside. It also started to rain. Athos hoped that the weather wasn’t an omen, but at least it made it easy to tell when a car pulled up. The street wasn’t very busy after business hours and the headlights could easily be seen. Athos quickly got to his feet, with the others soon following.

“Well, this is it,” Aramis said nervously.

“Remember,” Porthos nodded at him. “You got this.”

“What he said,” Constance came forward and gave Athos a quick kiss on the cheek. “Charles is lucky to have you.”

Athos gave his friends a last grateful look before moving towards the door. He immediately opened it, not just because he was eager to meet his brother, but also because Athos wanted him inside where he could dry off as soon as possible. Charles wasn’t going to come down with a cold on his first night in Athos’ custody.

Two figures came up the stairs, one with light footsteps and the other lagging behind. What with getting them in the apartment and taking coats, Athos didn’t say anything. His eyes, though, immediately went to the smaller figure.

Athos’ first impression of his brother was that the boy was all elbows and knees, with big, brown eyes in a face that was far too thin. Those eyes were looking back at him with a solemn, wary expression that was too old for a boy of his age. No child should be that emotionally walled off; Athos could all but see the barriers in his brother’s eyes.

“Well,” Ann Royalton ran a hand along her suit coat, as though she were brushing out wrinkles, although the fabric was perfectly smooth. “Olivier Athos, I’m pleased to introduce you to your brother, Charles Castelmore.”

He couldn’t help it; Athos did something completely out of character for him. He said the first thing that came to mind, with no attempt at control. “My god, you must hate me.”

Having been an investigator for years and a soldier for years before that, Athos was habituated to observing the environment around him. His mind automatically categorized the reactions of the people in the room. Ann’s was the easiest to see since she was standing directly across from him. Her mouth fell open in surprise, although no sound came out. Out of the corner of his eye, Athos could see Aramis drop his head and slowly shake it, although he didn’t say anything either. In contrast, Athos heard Constance’s softly murmured “Oh, Athos” and Porthos’ throaty chuckle, although both of them were standing completely out of his line of sight.

Athos ignored all of them; the only reaction that mattered to him was the one from his brother.

Charles blinked and his expression got a little less wooden. Athos had apparently surprised the boy and the wariness in his eyes was joined by a little bit of curiosity. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been safe in my own little world while you’ve been on your own,” Athos explained. “I’m sorry, Charles. If I’d known about you, I’d have come for you a lot earlier.”

His explanation caused his brother to tilt his head a little, as though he were considering. “But you didn’t know, right? That’s what Mrs. Royalton said too.”

“No, I didn’t know,” Athos took a step forward.

Charles looked down at his feet briefly, but soon lifted his head to meet Athos’ eyes. “If you didn’t know, then it wasn’t your fault.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know about you either, so we’re even.”

Given everything his little brother had been through, it was an incredibly generous thing to say. “Thank you, Charles.”

Oddly enough, Athos’ comment made the boy look away. His thin shoulders squared, though, and he soon turned back, a decidedly determined expression on his face. “I don’t want to be called Charles, I want to be called D’ar, after my real father.”

“Charles!”

The social worker’s voice was startled and full of reproach, although to Athos’ ear, she also sounded a little bit hurt. He, on the other hand, was delighted to see that spark of boldness. Judge Freddy was right; his little brother wasn’t broken after all.

“Mrs. Royalton,” Athos responded. He’d seen his brother flinch when she’d said his name, although the boy hadn’t backed down either. Athos’ words were directed towards Ann, but his eyes never left Charles’ – no, D’ar’s – face. “I have no problem with my brother honoring his father that way.” He put a hand on D’ar’s shoulder and tried not to wince when he realized how bony it was. “Your loyalty does you credit.”

“Thanks.” 

Athos’ felt a minute softening of the boy’s frame at his acceptance and gently withdrew his hand. He wanted to pull his brother in for a hug, but felt it might be too soon. 

“Besides, I’d be something of a hypocrite if I protested,” Athos smiled at D’ar. “I prefer to go by my last name, so would appreciate it if you just called me Athos.”

“To honor your father?” D’ar asked.

“Nothing that noble,” Athos explained. “I’m just prefer it to Olivier is all. Going to boarding school with a name like Olivier was not a lot of fun.”

It was just a twitch of the lips, but Athos could have sworn his brother almost smiled. “I bet.”

Someone cleared a throat behind him and Athos was reminded that there were other people in the room. “I need to introduce you to the rest of the family.”

D’ar frowned and shot a quick glance at his social worker. “Family? I thought it was just you?”

Athos responded before Ann could. “Family isn’t always by blood. These people are my chosen family and, by extension, now are members of your family too. You can count on them as much as you can me and I promise that they’ll never fail you.”

“Okay,” D’ar looked far from convinced and nervously twitched his shoulders, readjusting the duffle bag hanging from a strap on his shoulder. 

“Do you want me to take your bag?” Athos offered.

D’ar shook his head. “No, I’ve got it.” He glanced at the social worker and added a hasty, “But thanks.”

“All right.” Clearly the boy wasn’t ready to let go of his meager possessions and Athos wasn’t going to force the issue. Instead, he turned his attention towards his colleagues. “All three of these scoundrels work with me at the agency. First we have Constance Bonacieux.” Ever the gentleman, Athos introduced the lady first. 

“We’re so glad that you’re here,” Constance rushed forward and enveloped D’ar into a hug. Athos couldn’t see the boy’s face, but he heard a soft yelp of surprise at the gesture.

“Constance, please let my brother breathe,” Athos said dryly. “We wouldn’t want him to suffocate just minutes after I’ve finally met him.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Constance blushed as she let D’ar go and the 12 year-old hastily stepped back. “We’re just so happy to meet you.”

D’ar was blushing too and looked to Ann Royalton for guidance. She smiled encouragement at him. “Thanks?”

“You’ll meet Constance’s husband later,” Athos decided the kindest thing for D’ar was to continue on as quickly as possible. “The pretty one next to her is Aramis.”

“Greetings.” Aramis stepped forward and, with a fancy gesture, bowed. 

D’ar looked at him askance and when Aramis straightened, stuck out his hand. “Hi, Mr. Aramis.” Obviously, the boy was taking no chances about being hugged again. Athos didn’t know whether to be amused by that or saddened.

Aramis grinned at him. “It’s just Aramis. Like your brother and yourself, I’m a member of the Last Name Club.” He leaned forward and winked at D’ar. “If your brother thinks going to boarding school with a name like Olivier is difficult, then he should try attending an all boys catholic school with Rene as a first name.” He shuddered. “I do not know what my parents were thinking.”

Again, D’ar’s lips twitched and Athos thought the boy was perilously close to smiling.

“And, last but not least, the big one is Porthos Vallon,” Athos gestured to the last of his friends. “And don’t worry, he’s not as scary as he looks.”

“Who are you are you trying to fool?” Porthos grinned at Athos as he moved forward to shake D’ar’s hand. “I eat little brothers for breakfast.”

Despite his words, Porthos’ grin was so infectious that D’ar didn’t seem at all intimidated. Of course, he still hadn’t broken out into a real smile yet either.

“You and Porthos have a lot in common,” Athos said quietly.

“We do?” D’ar looked the big man up and down, clearly not believing Athos.

“I was a system kid too,” Porthos added, becoming more serious. 

D’ar’s eyes widened. “You were? But you’re so - . . . .”

“Big?” Porthos’ smile became a lot gentler. “I am now, but I wasn’t always. At one time I was a scrawny little thing. No two kids’ experiences are exactly the same, but if you ever want to talk about it, well, I’m always willing to lend an ear.” He glanced at Athos. “I know your brother is too, but sometimes it helps to talk to someone who went through some of the same things.”

An uncomfortable silence lapsed and it was the social worker who broke it.

“Mr. Athos, maybe you could show Ch-, I mean, D’ar, his room now?” Ann suggested, stumbling over the unfamiliar name. “I’m sure he’s anxious to see where he’ll be staying.”

“Certainly,” Athos moved ahead of the little group. “No doubt you can see that this is the kitchen and living room area. The bedrooms are down this hallway, with an extra bath and laundry room at the end. Mine is the room on the right and yours is the room on the left.”

Athos had reached the bedroom while he finished speaking and walked in, turning the light on as he moved by. Ann walked in right behind him, with D’ar bringing up the rear. The room felt big, but empty and Athos was embarrassed by how uninviting it must seem to a boy who’d been through so much.

“I’m sorry that it’s so bare,” he apologized to his brother. “It seemed best to wait until you arrived to choose paint colors and such. We can fix it up any way you like.”

He needn’t have bothered. D’ar’s duffle bag hit the floor with a thump and the boy made a beeline for the photos on the bedside table. In the stark room they’d been more noticeable than they might have been in other circumstances. While Athos watched, his brother picked up the frame and touched the glass with reverent fingers. Thankfully the bed was close by, because D’ar abruptly sat down.

“Ch- . . . . D’ar,” Ann stumbled over the name again. “Are you all right?”

The boy lifted his head and Athos could see tears glistening in his eyes. “Where did you get these?”

Both adults hastened to his side. Ann sat on the bed next to D’ar while Athos crouched down in front of the boy. Like D’ar, the social worker touched the glass covering the photos.

“Yes, Athos, where did you get these?” Her voice had a bit more steel in it than D’ar’s had.

“My agency wouldn’t be much of an investigative firm if I couldn’t discover information about my own brother,” Athos told her, a mild rebuke in his tone. Did she really think he would sit back and be content to have only spoon fed details about his own flesh and blood? 

Athos softened his voice when he spoke to D’ar, however. “I read about how everything was lost in the fire and so when Constance came across these while doing some research, I asked her to contact the newspaper they’d ran in to get copies. I thought you might like to have them; I have a similar set on my desk downstairs.”

“I love them, thank you.” The boy sniffed and quickly wiped at his eyes. He again looked at his social worker. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Ann reassured him. She wrapped an arm around D’ar’s shoulders and Athos tried not to be jealous that he wasn’t the one to comfort his brother. She looked up at Athos. “Could we have a minute, please?”

“Of course,” D’ar was looking down again, so Athos quickly touched the youngster’s knee in order to get his attention. When D’ar looked up, Athos found a soft smile for him. “Ms. Royalton’s right, you have nothing to be sorry for.” He stood. “Please, come out and join us when you feel up to it, but feel free to take as much time as you need.”

Athos quickly left the room before any of his own emotion could show in his expression. The thought he was doing a good job tamping it down until he got back to the living room where the rest of his friends were waiting for him.

“What’s wrong?” Aramis asked.

“D’ar became a little overwhelmed at seeing the pictures of his parents,” Athos sighed. “I hadn’t expected that.”

Porthos walked up and put a hand on his shoulder. “None of us did and, really, I should have.”

“It’s not your fault,” Aramis said firmly, looking at both of them. “Neither of you are at fault.”

“Charl - I mean, D’ar,” Constance made a small noise of frustration at the slip. “Has been through a lot lately. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” She smiled tentatively. “I like him.”

“Me too,” Porthos declared. “That kid’s got spunk, when one of the first things he says to you is to correct his name.”

“Not to mention, a certain amount of flare,” Aramis agreed. “And compassion. I have to say, D’ar reacted to your first words with a surprising amount of aplomb, Athos.”

“Whereas I would have kicked you in the shins if the social worker hadn’t been there,” Constance delared. “What were you thinking, starting off with something so awkward?”

Athos shrugged. “I’m not sure, except that it was important to me that he know that I hadn’t intentionally abandoned him.”

“Well, you managed that and then some,” Porthos was grinning again. “Something tells me that one’s gonna be a firecracker when he starts feeling settled.”

“I hope so,” Athos smiled at the thought of a happy little brother. “I truly do.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Ann and D’ar returning, the social worker’s arm still around D’ar’s shoulders. Athos was relieved that his brother’s face didn’t show the signs of extended weeping. In fact, the boy looked a little sheepish. 

“Is anybody hungry for dessert?” Constance asked the group in general. “D’ar, we have cake and ice cream.”

D’ar looked up at Ann, who nodded at him. “That sounds good, thanks.”

Constance made a point to show the cake to D’ar. “I hope the kite motif isn’t too young for you, but we thought it was better than flowers.”

From the boy’s blush, he wasn’t used to such consideration. “It’s fine, thanks.”

In comparison, Athos was not used to so much hustle and bustle going on in his kitchen, but the domestic tasks of cutting the cake and getting it plated was a welcome change from the normal silence that prevailed. Soon, they were all seated, some at the kitchen table and some at the breakfast bar, enjoying their treat.  
“So it looks like Constance was wise to put ‘little brother’ on the cake and not ‘Charles,’” Aramis said. Athos put his fork down and glared at his friend. He would not have D’ar teased about such a personal choice. “But you need to settle something for us, if you will.”

D’ar didn’t look very confident when he replied. “Okay – if I can.”

“Oh, you absolutely can with this,” Aramis assured him. “So before you chose to take your father’s name, did you go by Charles, Charlie, Chuck or perhaps Chaz?”

Athos rolled his eyes. “Gentlemen, please tell me that you did not bet on my brother’s nickname.”

“Bet is a strong word, my friend,” Aramis grinned his most toothy smile at Athos. “We were just wondering, is all.”

“Charles,” D’ar answered. “That’s what my mom always called me and my dad too. So it was always Charles, even at school and church.” He wrinkled his nose. “Especially not Chuck or Chaz.”

Constance giggled at Aramis’ and Porthos’ crestfallen faces. Athos had a feeling that all three of them were mugging it up in order to help his brother relax. While he appreciated that, neither could he let the situation go without repercussions. Not when his brother was involved.

“All right, you need to pay up,” Athos pointed out. The others turned to him in surprise.

“But no one won,” Porthos pointed out. “The boy goes by D’ar.”

“My brother does indeed use the name D’ar,” Athos stated. “Which makes him the winner.”

“That’s not fair,” Aramis protested, although from the twinkle in his eyes, that protest was far from genuine. “That wasn’t even one of the choices.”

Athos gestured at them with his fork. “Perhaps that will teach you not to wager on something so foolish. Come on, pay up. Now.”

With a groan, both men dug their wallets out of their pockets and pulled out a $5 dollar bill. Before they handed them over, however, they gave Constance a pointed look.

“Oh, all right,” Constance got up from her chair and retrieved her purse, coming back with a $5 bill of her own.

“You too?” Athos murmured. “They’re corrupting you.”

Constance blushed. “Not anymore. This is the last time.”

Porthos grinned. “Speak for yourself.”

All three of them handed the money to D’ar, who looked gob smacked. “I can’t take this.”

“Of course you can,” Athos encouraged them. “They need to learn not to bet on such nonsense.”

D’ar, however, turned to Ann. To Athos’ pleasant surprise, she had covered her mouth to keep from laughing. That was a relief, as he had belatedly realized that the social worker could have been offended by his friends’ antics.

“Normally, the CPS frowns on gambling of any kind,” she reassured the boy. “But this seems harmless and so I think that we can make an exception.” She mock glared at the three offenders. “If there are any recurrences, however, I shall tell Judge Fredrick and she can deal with you.”

“Not sure that’d be a punishment for all of us,” Porthos murmured, but to the relief of both Aramis and Athos, no one else appeared to hear. “Aramis might actually like it.”

As absurd as the nickname contest had been, talking about it broke the ice a little.

“D’ar, do you have any ideas of what color you’d like your room to be?” Athos asked. “We thought it would be nice if you got to pick that out for yourself.”

His brother shrugged. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”

“You don’t have to decide right away,” Athos assured him. “I just thought since we’ll likely be getting other things tomorrow that it would be good to think about.”

“What other things?” D’ar asked.

Athos shrugged. “It didn’t look like you brought many clothes with you, so some of those. Most importantly, though, you’ll need a phone.”

“A phone?” D’ar looked startled. “For me?”  
“For you,” Athos replied firmly. “I’ll be the one taking you to and from school most of the time, but there might be occasions with one of the others will be filling in. You’ll need to have a phone in order to get that information or any other schedule changes that happen.”

“Oh.” D’ar ducked his head, so Athos couldn’t tell if his brother was upset that his brother wouldn’t be his sole source of transportation or was just being shy.

“Where did the two of you go for dinner?” Constance asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

Ann named a Mexican franchise and the conversation veered to a discussion of various ethnic foods. Mostly the others talked, with both Athos and D’ar observing. Athos tried to surreptitiously study his brother and once in a while, caught a glance of the boy doing the same. At least D’ar was more relaxed than when he came in, causing Athos to hope that less fear was involved in his brother’s assessment of him than there had been when he came in.

“How about you, D’ar?” Aramis directed his latest question to the guest of honor. “Have you ever had Thai food?”

D’ar opened his mouth, but instead of an answer, all that came out was a huge yawn. The boy blushed as the adults gently laughed. Athos looked at the clock and was surprised to realize that it was almost ten o’clock.

“Sorry,” D’ar apologized, looking down again.

“No offense taken,” Athos assured him. “From what I understand, you’ve had a long day.”

Ann slid her chair back. “And I have a husband that’s probably wondering where I am.” She smiled at D’ar. “I see that I can leave you in good hands.”

D’ar looked stricken, but didn’t protest. He was probably used to being left in a new home by a social worker, but given the upheaval in his life in the last couple of days, seemed to be taking it a bit hard.

The social worker went to pick up her plate, but Athos grabbed it first. “No, you’re our guest.”  
He turned to smile encouragingly at D’ar. “I know that you’ll want to say goodbye to Ms. Royalton. Do remember where we put the coats? Good. Why don’t you see her out while the rest of us clean up?”

“Thank you,” Ann’s smile at Athos was particularly warm and he figured it was nearly as hard for the social worker to leave D’ar as it was for D’ar to have her go. “I will be in touch tomorrow to see how it’s going.”

“I welcome it,” Athos said. “And I’ll be sure you’re given D’ar’s cell phone number as soon as we get it. I’ll leave it to you to set your boundaries with him on when it’s appropriate to contact you.”

His friends had already begun to gather the plates and utensils. Athos did the same, while monitoring what was going on at the door. D’ar had found Ann’s coat in the closet and watched while she put it on. The social worker was speaking too quietly for Athos to hear, but he could see D’ar nod. The boy’s shoulders were hunched, though, and he clearly was not happy about being left. As loathe as he was to interrupt a private farewell, Athos also couldn’t simply just watch while his brother was miserable.

Athos walked over to the duo just as Ann was opening the door to leave. They exchanged a smile over D’ar’s head and Athos nodded solemnly. He would take care of their mutual charge.

“Thank you for everything,” Athos said quietly, not wanting to startle his brother, who may not have seen him walk up.

“You’re welcome, it has been my pleasure,” Ann’s gaze dropped to D’ar. “And I’ll be talking to you soon; I look forward to hearing about how things are going with your brother.”

Athos caught the subtle warning in those words, even if D’ar didn’t. Ann would be monitoring their progress, both good and bad.

“Okay,” D’ar said. “Bye.”

Ann stepped forward and gave the boy a quick hug. “Good night.” Then, as though she made herself move despite having second thoughts, she turned around and walked out the door.

D’ar stared forlornly after her and Athos carefully put a hand on his shoulder.

“I know that everything’s strange right now, but it’s going to be okay.” Athos reassured him. “I will do everything in my power to make it okay.”

“I’m all right,” D’ar said with a little sigh. He shut the door and firmed his shoulders again before turning to Athos, who’d let his hand drop. “Would you mind if I went to bed now?”

Since it was the first time the boy had actually expressed a desire for anything, Athos was happy to agree. Besides, it was clear to see that his brother’s energy was flagging.

“Certainly,” Athos told him. “Do you need anything before you go to your room? Do you want me to show you how to work the shower?”

D’ar shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“All right, I’ll see you in the morning, then.” Athos said. Feeling sheepish, he ran a hand through his hair. “I should probably warn you that I’ve been known to sleep a little late in the mornings, so if you get up before I do, feel free to help yourself to anything you want to eat. Or you can wake me. Same goes if you wake up during the night.”

“Okay.”

Porthos has noticed that the direction the boy was head. “Going to bed?”

“Yeah,” D’ar stopped to answer. “Goodnight.”

Seeing his friend reminded Athos of something.

“D’ar, I didn’t have the chance to show you this before,” Athos told his brother. “But there’s a lock on the inside of your bedroom door. Porthos suggested it.”

D’ar looked startled. “A lock?”

“On the inside,” Porthos repeated. “Your brother asked me what made me feel better when moving into a new foster home and I told him the one thing I always wanted more than anything else was a lock on my door. So Athos had us help him install one.”

“And I won’t be offended if you use it,” Athos assured him. “I know you won’t need it, but I don’t expect you to know that yet. By all means, use it if it brings you any comfort; that’s what it’s there for.”

“Okay.” The boy looked a little more relaxed. In fact, when he noticed that all four of the adults were looking at him, he managed a small wave and an even smaller smile. “Goodnight, everybody. Thanks.”

A chorus of goodnights followed him down the hall and Athos didn’t even try to make a pretense of not watching him until D’ar was out of sight. Even then, he listened as the bedroom door opened and closed. Soon after, there was the distinctive click of a lock being engaged.

Athos’ sigh came from the bottom of his feet all the way up through his body, but he wasn’t sure if it was a sigh of relief or disappointment. He tried not to feel bad. After all, he’d encouraged the boy to use the lock; he shouldn’t be saddened when D’ar did.

“I think that went well,” Porthos’ voice startled Athos. The big man had come up beside him and put an arm around his shoulder, gently turning Athos and guiding him towards his other friends. “Rome weren’t built in a day.”

“He’s absolutely adorable,” Constance was clearly holding back from gushing, but with only moderate success. “And so sweet.”

“You’re good with him,” Aramis said. “It’s easy to see that you’re stellar big brother material – just as we knew you would be.”

“Thomas might beg to differ,” Athos stated quietly. His deceased brother had been on his mind a lot since learning of D’ar’s existence. Thomas would have loved having a younger sibling.

“Enough,” Porthos said, eyes glinting with anger. “You were young and foolish and a pretty young con artist messed with your head for a couple of months. The blame for what happened as a result was on her, not you and it doesn’t wipe out the fact that you were an excellent older brother to Thomas for his entire life.”

“He’s right,” Aramis put a hand on Athos’ arm. “Let it go, my friend.”

Constance sighed. “Like that’s going to happen.” She reached up and briefly cupped Athos’ face with both hands. “Learn from your mistake with Thomas, but use it only to make sure it doesn’t happen again. If you let all of your time with D’ar be colored with guilt, he’s going to pick up on that. He deserves a fresh start, doesn’t he?  
Athos nodded. “That’s the least of what he deserves.”

Porthos shrugged. “Then give it to him.”

Although he knew it wouldn’t be that easy, Athos nodded. “Thank you. Again. I will eventually be my usual, competent self again.”

“Hopefully not,” Aramis retorted. “I rather like this new, more emotionally open Athos.”

“The boy’s going to be as good for you as you are for him,” Porthos predicted. “That’s easy to see.”

“What else is easy to see is that you’re just as exhausted as your little brother is,” Constance said before Athos could respond. “We should go and let you – both of you – get some rest.”

Disapproving looks from both Aramis and Porthos kept Athos from protesting. Instead he meekly followed his friends to the door and allowed each one to hug him before the left.

“I’ll bring D’ar down later in the morning,” he told them. “Perhaps we could do lunch out and then pick up some supplies.”

Aramis nodded. “The case load’s fairly light right now; we should be able to get to a good stopping point by then.”

After a final round of goodbyes and promises to contact them should he need anything, the trio left and Athos was alone. Well, alone in his living room. Even though he couldn’t hear a sound from the bedroom, Athos was keenly aware of his brother’s presence in the apartment.

Although he was tired, it was too early for Athos to go to bed. He did go into the bedroom and change into some sleep pants and a long-sleeved knit shirt, making sure to move quietly so that he didn’t disturb D’ar. Once he was comfortable, he went back into the main area and powered up his laptop. With the hum of the dishwasher as background noise, he dove into his work email. D’ar’s arrival was a momentous occasion, but business still needed to be attended to.

Athos was deep into his work and so when he heard the noise for the first time, but it had already stopped before he truly noticed. It came again, though, and Athos realized that the sound was a cry – and it came from D’ar’s bedroom. He immediately got up and hurried towards the hallway. As he approached the room, he heard another cry and a muffled thump. It sounded like the boy had fallen out of bed.

“D’ar,” he knocked softly on the door. “Are you all right?”

There was a moment of silence and then a barely audible voice answered. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Having been the victim of numerous ones himself, Athos knew the signs of a nightmare. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, thank you.” The boy’s voice still sounded quieter than just being behind a closed door could account for. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t, I hadn’t gone to bed yet.” Athos didn’t want to walk away, but neither did he want to force the boy to open the door so that he could check for himself that D’ar was all right. That action would negate the benefit of having a lock in the first place. “I’m going to fix myself a snack. You’re welcome to join me if you like. Or not, if you just want to go back to sleep.”

There was a slight hesitance and then D’ar answered. “All right. Thanks.”

Athos went back towards the main living area, surprised to realize that he hadn’t lied. He was hungry, probably because he’d been too anxious to eat much dinner. A quick glance at the digital reading on the microwave showed that it was after midnight. While still listening for activity coming from the bedroom, he rummaged through the cabinets until he found what he wanted.

By the time Athos heard the door to D’ar’s room open, he had the bread and peanut butter out. He smiled gently at the boy’s tousled hair. It was too short to be a truly impressive bed head, but if Constance had thought his little brother adorable before, she’d probably swoon at the sight of him so mussed. For Athos, the picture was marred a little bit by the fact that the legs and arms of D’ar’s pajamas were several inches too short for him. It was yet another sign of neglect and an additional item for the next day’s shopping trip.

“Peanut butter sandwich okay?” Athos asked as D’ar trudged to the kitchen and took a stool at the breakfast bar.

“Yeah, thanks.” D’ar put his head in his hands. The full bank of lights wasn’t on, but even in the dimmed lighting, Athos could see that his brother’s eyes were red.

Athos got out a couple of plates and quickly slathered some peanut butter onto slices of bread. He slid one plate over to D’ar and next got out some cups. After looking in the fridge, Athos decided the only kid-friendly drink was milk. It’d been years, if not decades, since Athos had milk, but he decided he better set a good example. Soon two glasses were poured and the jug back in the refrigerator.

While he was chewing his first bite, Athos’ mind was swirling. Clearly, D’ar had been disturbed by a dream, but while Athos could interrogate adults with no problem, he was a little unsure of how to get a 12 year-old to open up with him. Remembering how Judge Freddy had insisted that Athos would need to be the one to open up first, he decided to take an indirect approach.

“I never had peanut butter until I was college,” Athos stated, seemingly out of the blue. D’ar looked at him with question marks in his eyes, but didn’t say anything. “My mother was a bit of a food snob. She wouldn’t allow it in the house. Of course, her tactic backfired, now it’s one of my favorite things.” He put a finger over his lips. “Please don’t tell Aramis, though. He’d tease me forever about it.”

D’ar considered for a minute. “I like peanut butter too.”

As common ground went, it wasn’t much, but Athos would take what he could get. “Have you tried it on chocolate ice cream?”

His brother shook his head. “No, but I like it on graham crackers with a banana.” D’ar sighed. “Mrs. Duras didn’t buy peanut butter, she said it was too expensive.”

Athos struggled to keep the anger from his face, worried that D’ar might misunderstand who it was directed at. “Well, I’m happy to say you can get used to having it back in your life.” 

“Good,” D’ar’s smile was slight, but at least it was a smile.

The boy picked up his glass and took a long drink. Seeing that made Athos realize that as delicious as peanut butter was, it was also sticky. He lifted his own glass and took a swig. As soon as the liquid hit his mouth, however, Athos remembered why he hadn’t had milk in so long. It was viscous and it was nasty. He barely had the presence of mind to turn to the sink as he spit the milk out.

“My God, you actually enjoy that?” Athos turned back to his brother, wiping his lips while he spoke. He ran water in the sink and started rinsing his mouth to get the taste out. “It’s vile.”

D’ar’s eyes were big as he watched Athos’ reaction, but then he did something extraordinary. He giggled, which caused him to snort, which in turn produced a bigger giggle.

Athos stopped what he was doing and looked at the youngster. “You think that’s funny?”

His brother made a clear effort to stop, but that just wasn’t happening. “I’m sorry.”

There were far more dear things than his dignity that Athos would give up if it made his brother laugh. “Don’t be, it is funny.”

“You missed a spot,” D’ar pointed to a place on his chin and Athos wiped at it. He must have had several drops of milk caught in his short beard. 

“I don’t suppose,” Athos drawled, looking at D’ar from underneath lowered eyelashes. “That I could convince you not to tell Aramis or Porthos about this, could I?”

“I won’t tell them,” D’ar bit his lip. He’d picked up his milk again and was about to take another drink. “Brothers stick together, right?”

For once, Athos’ grin felt as wide as Porthos’. “Right.” He held out his glass of water and touched his glass to D’ar’s. “A toast – to brothers.”

“To brothers,” D’ar repeated and both drank.

“Laughter, I have found,” Athos stated after they’d each taken several more bites of their respective sandwiches. “Is often the best way to dispel the last of a bad dream.”

He was looking at his plate, but in his peripheral vision, Athos could tell that his brother had paused chewing before swallowing hard.

“I’m rather plagued by them,” Athos continued, as though he hadn’t noticed. “Not as much now as I used to be, I’m glad to say.”

“Why did they stop?” D’ar asked. “Did you laugh them away?”

“I wish it were that easy,” Athos smiled at the boy, encouraged that he’d responded. “Sometimes talking about them to someone else helps, but sometimes you don’t want to speak about them because you’re afraid that will make them more real.” He shrugged. “At least, it felt that way to me. My worst dreams were of things that had happened in my past, so they were more like memories. With those kind of nightmares, I found that having a snack was the best thing to do. Having something in my belly helps ground me in the here and now and reminds me that I’m not stuck in something that’s already happened.”

D’ar had put the remnants of his sandwich down and was picking at the bread. “My dreams are really bad, but when I wake up, I can’t exactly remember them. I just know they’re about my dad.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “And that I’m really scared.”

Athos put his sandwich down too. “Do you want to talk about it?”

The dark head shook, but D’ar wouldn’t look up.

“That’s okay, I’m not going to force you to tell me if you don’t want to,” Athos said gently. “If you ever change your mind, though, and think talking about it will make you feel better, please know you can always come to me.”

“Okay,” D’ar whispered. He lifted his head. “Some of my foster families got rid of me because they got tired of my nightmares waking them up at night.”

Athos closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them again, he figured he must have done a decent job of controlling his anger because D’ar just looked curious and not frightened.

“I’m your brother, not a foster family,” Athos reminded D’ar. “And I will never send you away. Not for nightmares, not for anything.” He left out that the state might take D’ar away if Athos was deemed unfit to care for him, not wanting to frighten the boy.

“Okay,” D’ar took a deep, but shaky breath. “So how did you get your nightmares to go away, if you didn’t laugh them away? Did you eat them away?”

Athos smiled at the thought of peanut butter sandwiches getting rid of his bad dreams. “No, not exactly. I did talk about them, to friends and a counselor, that’s why I offered to listen if you ever want to talk about yours. And I should tell you that Judge Freddy has instructed me that you will be seeing a counselor.”

D’ar frowned. “What’s a counselor?”

It took Athos a moment to come up with a good description. “It’s someone who’s trained to listen to people’s problems and gives them advice on how to deal with them.” 

His brother thought about it a moment. “Do I have to? I don’t think I want to tell a stranger stuff about myself.”

He’d known the boy only for a couple of hours and already Athos was hard-pressed to say no to him. Luckily, in this case, Athos had a higher authority to defer to. “Judge Freddy says you do. Do you want to tell her you don’t?”

Athos’ question got the desired result; D’ar immediately shook his head. “No, I’ll go.”

“I think Judge Freddy is right,” Athos decided he better support the judge’s suggestion. Athos’ friends had helped him more than the military counselor had, but D’ar was his own person and Athos was not going to stand in the way of anything that might help his brother. “I think you should keep an open mind and give it a try. It’ll be worth it if helps with the nightmares.”

“I suppose s-. . . .” D’ar’s words were cut off by a big yawn.

The yawn was contagious and Athos yawned too. When he was done, he tapped D’ar’s plate with one finger. “Take the last bite of your sandwich and then I think it’s off to bed with you.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I will soon follow.”

“Okay.” D’ar obediently finished his sandwich and then did the same with his milk. Athos shuddered in disgust at the latter, disbelieving that the boy actually enjoyed drinking it. 

When he was done, D’ar stood and picked up his plate, but Athos took it from him. “I’ll just put these over here for now and we’ll take care of the rest of it in the morning.”

Athos waited until the boy started towards the bedrooms and then took both of their plates and put them in the sink. He turned to get the glasses too and jumped. D’ar had changed directions and was standing directly next to him.

“Thanks, Athos,” the boy said.

Greatly daring, Athos reached out and ruffled his brother’s already mussed hair. “You’re certainly welcome.”

D’ar allowed the gesture, which was heartening. It was all that Athos thought he could hope for and so he was utterly unprepared when the boy leaned forward and wrapped thin arms around Athos’ waist in a tight hug. Awkwardly, all Athos could do as a response was to return the embrace, but far more gently, given that the boy in his arms felt light as a bird.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” D’ar’s voice was muffled and Athos couldn’t see his expression, but he was encouraged all the same.

Athos had to clear his throat against a sudden welling of emotion. “That’s good, because I know that I’m going to like having you here.” He patted his brother on the back. 

After all too short a time, D’ar pulled back and Athos could tell that the boy was blushing, no doubt embarrassed by his sudden gesture of affection. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Athos responded. He didn’t want it to seem too obvious that he was watching D’ar return to his room, so instead finished with the glasses. By the time he turned back, D’ar was out of sight.

Athos made a deliberate effort not to listen for the lock again. Of course D’ar would use it. For a boy who’d been without a door for months, a lock must be the ultimate in luxury. Instead, he powered down his laptop and headed towards his own bedroom.

As he climbed into bed, Athos remembered something that Porthos had said. No, Rome wasn’t built in a day and neither would his relationship with his brother. Still, Athos realized that they’d just made the beginnings of what would hopefully be a strong foundation.

With a smile on his face and hope for the future, Athos fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deserve a lot of praise for this chapter. Not for the quality of the writing (ha!), but for not ending it after Athos states that Charles must hate him. That felt like the natural break for the chapter, but I had a feeling a couple of people might have been unhappy with me for ending it there, so I didn't.
> 
> The next chapter will go over the brothers' introduction from Charles' POV. Not every event in the story will have overlap like that, but their meeting is important enough that I think it's justified.


	7. Chapter 7

To his extreme embarrassment, D’ar fell asleep after lunch. Mrs. Royalton was right and the staff in the lounge had served the kids pizza. It wasn’t the best pizza in the world, but the only pizza that D’ar had eaten since living at the Duras house had been when the school served it in the cafeteria. Even the cheap take-out pizza that the CPS provided was better than that, so it tasted pretty good to him. With his stomach full and his nerves frayed, he’d meant to distract himself from the wait by watching a movie, but had instead drifted off to sleep.

“Charles, wake up.”

A familiar female voice saying his name from so close woke D’ar immediately. He sat up quickly and looked around, expecting to see Mrs. Duras scowling at him. “Sorry!”

He’d apologized before he had a chance to realize that the voice was familiar, not because it was his last foster mother, but because it was his social worker. Mrs. Royalton. She crouched down next to the couch he’d been sprawled out on and looked at him apologetically.

“I’m sorry to wake you up when you were sleeping so peacefully, but I have some good news.” The social worker smiled brightly at him. “Judge Fredrick has agreed to allow you to live with your brother.”

D’ar blinked and sat up on the couch. Mrs. Royalton sat next to him. “That must mean that she trusts him?” 

“I think she does.” Mrs. Royalton leaned in, like she was confiding a secret. “Judge Fredrick told your brother to call her Judge Freddy too. Once in a while she’ll let a child call her that, like she did with you, but I’ve never, ever heard of her giving an adult permission before. In fact, I texted a couple of my co-workers about it on the way to pick you up and they didn’t believe me.”

That fact didn’t mean as much to D’ar as the phrase Mrs. Royalton had used. Being ‘picked up’ implied going somewhere and he wasn’t sure he was ready to meet this brother just yet.

“Am I going with him right now?” He asked, not able to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

Mrs. Royalton immediately put an arm around his shoulders. “Not right this second, no, but later tonight. Will that be okay? I didn’t think you’d want to stay another night in the group home.”

D’ar relaxed a little, but when he’d realized he’d started leaning into Mrs. Royalton’s warmth, pulled back. Social workers didn’t like for you to get too close.

“No, I don’t want to go back there,” D’ar answered. “I mean, it was okay, but - . . . .” He was unable to finish articulating his sentence and yawned. “I don’t think I’m awake yet. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Obviously you needed the rest.” She squeezed his shoulders and then let go. Standing, she offered him a hand up. “I told your brother that I would feed you supper before bringing you to his apartment.”

“Okay,” D’ar fell into step beside her as she signed him out of the lounge. “And he’s still not mad?”

“Your brother?” Mrs. Royalton asked, leading down a hallway and headed in the direction of the parking garage. “We talked about this before, Charles. He’s not angry with you. In fact, he’s very eager to meet you.”

For the life of him, D’ar still couldn’t understand why his brother would want custody of him in the first place, but even if that were true, to have D’ar suddenly dumped on him? No matter what Mrs. Royalton said, that sounded like plenty to be mad about to him. 

“I know that it feels like everything is moving very quickly,” Mrs. Royalton had noticed his uncertainty. “And, in a way it is, but keep in mind that your brother has had a few more days to adjust to your existence than you have to his, so he was a little better prepared. He’s said from the very beginning that he wanted you to come live with him as soon as possible, so this is what he wants.”

D’ar shrugged. He was not going to upset Mrs. Royalton anymore by continuing to sound unsure. “Okay.”

“All right,” Mrs. Royalton seemed relieved. “Where would you like to go for dinner?”

She was actually asking him what he wanted? D’ar didn’t know what to say. “Anything’s fine.”

Unfortunately, Mrs. Royalton was not about to let that stand as an answer. “Just anything? Nothing sounds particularly good to you?”

D’ar thought about it for a moment. He’d eaten out more in the last day than he had the whole time he with Mr. and Mrs. Duras. The problem wasn’t that nothing sounded good, it was that everything did.

“Not pizza?” D’ar suggested. He’d just had that for lunch. “And maybe not burgers?”

“Well, that’s a start.”

They’d reached Mrs. Royalton’s car and she unlocked it so they both could get in. Once they were seated and belted, though, she continued. She seemed to realize that he was having difficulty with what she asked, however, because she narrowed the choices down considerably.

“Since you just had pizza and burgers, what about Chinese or Mexican?” She suggested. “Which of those two sounds better?”

It was much easier to deal with just two choices and D’ar was able to make up his mind. “Mexican, please.”

“Mexican it is.” Her answering smile was brilliant. “Good choice.”

On the way to the restaurant, Mrs. Royalton told him stories about Judge Fredrick and D’ar was very glad he hadn’t heard of any of them before meeting the judge. He wasn’t sure that he believed she was so tough, because she seemed like a very nice lady to him. Then again, everyone made it clear that she liked kids better than grown-ups, so maybe she’d taken it easy on him.

D’ar expected Mrs. Royalton to take him to another fast food place, but instead she took him to a sit-down restaurant. That was great except that she said it was too late for a soda, but did let him get raspberry lemonade. D’ar was enjoying that and had just begun to dig into the chips that were delivered when the social worker brought up a more serious topic for discussion.

“Are there any questions you’d like to ask about living with your brother?” Mrs. Royalton delicately nibbled at a chip.

D’ar swallowed and dropped the tortilla he’d been about to dip into the salsa. Did he have questions? Yes, he had a lot of questions.

“Is he married?” D’ar asked the first one that came to mind. They’d gone over that before, but it was an important enough question to ask again.

“He’s divorced,” Mrs. Royalton didn’t seem irritated by the repetition. “And no children or pets.”

It went that way while they waited for their food to arrive, D’ar asking the safer questions. He was a little disappointed to learn that Olivier had an apartment rather than a house, but at least he would have his own room. What was better was that Mrs. Royalton assured him that it had a door. D’ar would take a door over a yard any day. The New Paris neighborhood that his brother lived in wasn’t one that D’ar was familiar with, but it sounded like it had a decent number of parks, so maybe he’d have the chance to be outside without any chores being involved.

Once their waiter brought their meals, D’ar tucked into his plate of tacos with relish. Mrs. Royalton had another salad and didn’t pepper him with questions while he ate. D’ar all but wolfed his down and was belatedly embarrassed at his lack of manners, but Mrs. Royalton just waved off his attempt to apologize.

“It’s good to see you eat with such enthusiasm,” the social worker told him. “Clearly, you’re not skinny because of a lack of appetite.”

“No,” D’ar blushed and looked down. “Mrs. Duras said I ate more than the two girls together.”

Mrs. Royalton made a snorting noise that wasn’t delicate or ladylike at all. “Of course you did, you’re a growing boy and younger children, especially a child Marlene’s age, eat a lot less. That’s only natural and nothing to be ashamed of.” Her smile became mischievous. “If my brother is anything to go by, your appetite will only get bigger as you get older and not the other way around.”

“What’s my brother like?” D’ar asked. Mrs. Royalton had answered a lot of questions about Olivier’s apartment, but other than knowing that he truly seemed to want custody of D’ar, D’ar didn’t know much about the man himself.

He got a little nervous when it took Mrs. Royalton a minute to answer.

“From what I’ve seen, he’s a quiet man,” the social worker said. “But I don’t know if that was just because I met him in some pretty formal situations or if that’s just the way he is. I will tell you that his friends are not nearly as quiet. As a matter of fact, Judge Fredrick shushed one of them in court.”

D’ar was appalled, but a little impressed too. “Someone was brave enough to make noise in front of Judge Freddy?”

Mrs. Royalton’s giggled. “Yes, he certainly did. In fact, he whoohooed when Judge Fredrick announced that she’d decided that you could live with your brother.”

“What did Judge Freddy do?” D’ar asked.

“She told him that he could be quiet or leave,” Mrs. Royalton told him. “He decided to be quiet, but Judge Fredrick let them all whoohoo a little later – and they did. They seemed very friendly and very happy for your brother.” She smiled reassuringly at D’ar. “So you see, even if your brother is rather quiet himself, he doesn’t seem to mind if his friends are a little boisterous. I don’t think you’ll need to worry about being as quiet as a church mouse all the time.”

“Okay,” D’ar said cautiously. What she said sounded promising, but was lacking in detail.

“I know there’s probably a lot more personal particulars that you want to learn about your brother,” Mrs. Royalton said. “But unfortunately most of what I know comes from the background check. I can tell you that he was an excellent student and a soldier that was awarded many medals. I also know that he’s done well with the family business and in creating his own, but all of that’s pretty dry. The two of you will just have to get to know one another.” She smiled and patted his hand. “The next time you and I see each other, you’ll have to be the one to tell me about him.”

D’ar nodded. “Okay.”

While Mrs. Royalton settled their bill with the waiter, D’ar spent the time thinking. Mrs. Royalton was right; what she could tell him about his brother was pretty boring stuff. The more he thought about it, though, D’ar wasn’t told much about a new foster home either. Besides, he did know something pretty important about Olivier Athos – his brother had a friend who was loyal enough to whoohoo in front of Judge Freddy. That counted for a lot.

All too soon, they were leaving the restaurant and back at the car. D’ar lapsed into a nervous silence as they drove towards his brother’s apartment. Now that the moment was almost at hand, D’ar had to admit to himself that this was different than a foster home situation – this might be permanent. The stakes were higher and D’ar worried that he might mess things up almost as much as he worried about what kind of person Olivier might be.

They pulled up in front of a building that looked old and somewhat fancy. D’ar looked down at his threadbare clothing. Despite his new shoes, he didn’t look like he fit in.

“Here we are,” Mrs. Royalton turned to D’ar before getting out of the vehicle. “Try to relax a little, Charles. Everything is going to be okay, I promise. I would never have brought you here if I didn’t think it was safe or a good choice for you, not after what happened with the Durases. You have to trust me on this, okay?”

D’ar bit his lip, remembering the look on Mrs. Royalton’s face the night Emily Duras had gone crazy. The social worker had been clearly willing to step between D’ar and a crazy woman while armed with nothing more than a tiny spray can. He’d trusted her that night and, although the circumstances were radically different, D’ar supposed it was only fair to trust her again. Finally, he nodded.

“Thank you, I know that’s not easy after everything you’ve been through,” Mrs. Royalton had not only seen his nod, but also how difficult it was for him trust. She smiled again before patting his knee. “Okay, let’s get you upstairs to meet your brother.”

Getting out of the car with less enthusiasm than his social worker, D’ar nonetheless obediently went to the trunk and waited for her to open it. He hefted his duffle bag out, knowing that he was lucky to have it. A lot of the other foster kids he’d seen since being in the system didn’t have such a luxury and had to transport their personal items in plastic garbage bags. D’ar’s probably would have had his stolen by another foster kid years ago, but it had been with him since before his father died and had his name embroidered on it.

It was lightly raining, so Mrs. Royalton didn’t waste any time leading him to the side of the building where there was a small door. She waited to be buzzed in and smiled at him before going inside. He followed. Immediately once in the door, there was a staircase ahead of them. Another door was on the right and D’ar assumed it led to the office he’d seen from the outside. The apartment must be located over the office, which D’ar thought was weird; he’d only lived in buildings that had been made up of all apartments.

D’ar lagged a little behind Mrs. Royalton as she climbed the stairs. He was still tired, but that wasn’t why he was slow. He both did and did not want to reach their destination. One way or another, he was about to meet the man who would be taking custody of him, maybe permanently, and despite his trust in Mrs. Royalton, at the moment D’ar wasn’t sure that was a good idea or not.

Once inside the apartment, D’ar didn’t have any time to look around, since he was immediately asked to remove the hoodie that was acting as his coat. He was a reluctant to take it off, since it was a little less worn than the rest of his clothes, but when he saw Mrs. Royalton doing the same, he copied her. Afterwards, he glanced around the space and found it looked a lot different than the outside of the building. Where the outside looked a little fussy, the inside was bright and didn’t look fussy at all. In fact, it was refreshingly uncluttered. D’ar wouldn’t have to worry about tripping over his own two feet and breaking something delicate.

Mostly, though, D’ar’s eyes were drawn to his brother. It wasn’t just that D’ar recognized Olivier from the photo, it was that his brother had a kind of a stillness to him that commanded attention, even though he was not the tallest man in the room. He looked very different from D’ar and that was a little unsettling, weren’t siblings supposed to look alike? Where D’ar’s hair was black and straight, Olivier’s was brown and a little wavy. D’ar was skinny, whereas his brother was sturdy. In contrast to D’ar’s muddy brown eyes, the older man’s were a vivid blue – or they would be if they weren’t so sad. 

It was that realization that brought D’ar up short - he and his brother may not look much alike, but they both knew what it was like to be sad. That similarity helped a little.

D’ar did his best to keep his face blank. Mrs. Royalton kept telling him that his brother really wanted custody of him, but D’ar’s own doubts made that seem impossible. Between the two extremes, he figured Olivier would either greet him with enthusiasm, either real or pretend, or turn him away and demand that Mrs. Royalton find another home for his loser baby brother. Both options would be embarrassing, so D’ar braced himself for either one.

Just when D’ar thought he would jump out of his skin from nerves, Mrs. Royalton presented him to his sibling. “Olivier Athos, I am pleased to introduce you to your brother, Charles Castelmore.”

Neither of the situations that D’ar had dreaded happened. Instead, his brother blurted out the last thing D’ar expected to hear.

“My god, you must hate me.”

Around him, D’ar could hear and, in some cases see, the other adults’ reactions. They all seemed dismayed, but as far as D’ar could tell, his brother hadn’t done anything bad. D’ar blinked; at least he didn’t think Olivier had done something bad.

“Why?” D’ar asked, genuinely curious. D’ar was the interloper in this situation, thrust upon his older sibling with little warning. If anyone should be hated in all of this mess, it should be D’ar.

“Because I’ve been safe in my own little world while you’ve been on your own. I’m sorry, Charles. If I’d known about you, I’d have come for you a lot earlier.”

D’ar tilted his head as he thought about that statement. His brother’s words backed up what Mrs. Royalton had been telling D’ar all along, Olivier really did want custody of him. “But you didn’t know, right? That’s what Mrs. Royalton said too.”

“No, I didn’t know.” His brother stepped forward, as though being closer to D’ar would help convince him. 

D’ar looked down at his feet for a moment, needing a small break from his brother’s now intense blue eyes. The years since his father had died had been awful. Worse than awful. It would be easy to blame his brother, since Olivier had been in the same city and hadn’t done anything about D’ar’s suffering. Still, ever since the social workers had shown up at the Durases, D’ar had been repeatedly told that nothing that had happened to him had been his fault. So, if it wasn’t D’ar’s fault, then how could it be Olivier’s, when Olivier hadn’t even known about D’ar? That just didn’t seem fair and D’ar’s dad had taught him that it was important to be as fair as possible.

“If you didn’t know, then it wasn’t your fault.” D’ar looked up and shrugged as something else occurred to him. His parents hadn’t told him about Olivier any more than Olivier’s father had told him about D’ar. “I didn’t know about you either, so we’re even.”

At his words, D’ar thought he saw his brother’s lips turn up a little bit, but it wasn’t quite a smile. Still, Olivier’s expression looked a lot less tense. “Thank you, Charles.”

D’ar looked away again, thinking furiously. The few adults he’d confided in about wanting to use his father’s name had been less than cooperative. His first social worker told him he was being difficult and apparently passed that opinion on to his various foster parents too. As for teachers, they mostly didn’t approve of what they considered a nickname. As a result, D’ar had given up on trying to convince an adult to use his preferred name, although he did occasionally confide in another kid, if he found one he trusted. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen often.

As much as D’ar liked and trusted Mrs. Royalton, he hadn’t quite gotten up the nerve to tell her about his name preference. At first it been because he didn’t know her well enough to know she wasn’t anything like his first social worker and when he did know better, he was too embarrassed that he hadn’t trusted her earlier. He didn’t want to make the same mistake with Olivier. Besides, he wanted his brother to know that they might technically share a parent, but D’ar would never, ever consider anyone but Alexander d’Artagnan to be his true dad. If that was going to a problem, D’ar figured it was best to get it over with quickly, so Olivier could send him away before he started settling into his new home.

All of that went through D’ar’s head in a matter of moments and, determined to follow through; he turned back to his brother. “I don’t want to be called Charles. I want to be called D’ar, after my real father.”

“Charles!”

D’ar flinched at Mrs. Royalton’s reaction, but didn’t look at her, partly because he didn’t really want to know if she was angry with him or, worse, was just disappointed. Mostly, though, he looked at Olivier, eager to see his brother’s reaction.

Olivier was gazing directly back at him and, far from appearing angry, his lips twitched as if he was about to smile. “I have no problem with my brother honoring his father that way.” Olivier reached out and put a hand on D’ar’s shoulder. “Your loyalty does you credit.”

The kind words, full of understanding, and the warm hand were incredibly reassuring. D’ar allowed himself to sag a moment in relief. All too soon, Olivier withdrew his touch, but he wasn’t through reassuring D’ar yet.

“Besides, I’d be something of a hypocrite if I protested,” Olivier smiled for the first time at D’ar. It wasn’t a huge grin, but seeing it still warmed D’ar. “I prefer to go by my last name, so would appreciate it if you just called me Athos.”

The smile gave D’ar the courage to ask if his brother used his last name in order honor his own father and he was relieved when Athos said no. It would have been truly awkward for Athos to revere the mutual parent that D’ar had just all but rejected. Upon hearing the comment that that implied that his impressive older brother had been teased in school because of his name, D’ar felt himself smile. Being teased was another thing the two of them had in common.

Someone cleared their throat and D’ar jumped a little. He’d been so focused on his brother that he’d forgotten for a moment that there were other people in the room. From the look on his face, Athos had done the same.

“I need to introduce you to the rest of the family.”

What was he talking about, family? D’ar thought it was just Athos and, after looking quickly at Mrs. Royalton, asked the question. It was his brother who answered, though, and not the social worker.

“Family isn’t always by blood. These people are my chosen family and, by extension, now are members of your family too. You can count on them as much as you can me and I promise that they’ll never fail you.”

If Athos had friends he considered family, what would he need a brother for? Nervously, D’ar shifted, causing the strap of his bag to start to slide off his shoulder. Athos noticed and offered to take it for him, but D’ar refused. Everything he had in the world was in that bag, especially the pictures of his parents.

Now that he was paying more attention, D’ar noticed that there were three other people in the room, two men and one woman. Athos first turned to the woman and D’ar blushed. She was just as pretty as Mrs. Royalton, but the two women couldn’t be more different. Mrs. Royalton was pastel and polite, whereas the new woman was colorful and almost thrummed with energy.

“All three of these scoundrels work with me at the agency. First we have Constance Bonacieux.”

Scoundrel wasn’t a word that D’ar was certain of, but he didn’t have much time to ponder the meaning. Much to his utter horror, the pretty young woman rushed forward as soon as Athos said her name, wrapped her arms around him and just about squeezed the stuffing out of him. D’ar couldn’t help it; he yelped. Not only was he not expecting her to do that, but he hadn’t gotten many hugs since entering the foster care system and was out of practice.

It was Athos who saved him.

“Constance, please let my brother breathe, we wouldn’t want him to suffocate just minutes after I finally met him.”

Athos sounded amused rather than angry, but his comment had the desired effect. At least it did from D’ar’s point of view – the woman let him go and D’ar immediately stepped back. She was blushing as she apologized and from the heat in his cheeks, D’ar knew that he was blushing too. He didn’t know what to say when she said that they were happy to meet him, but after Mrs. Royalton smiled at him, he chose to simply thank her.

All in all, D’ar was immensely relieved when his brother continued the introductions, although from the sound of it, there would be more in his future too. He only hoped that Mrs. Bonacieux’s husband wasn’t as huggy as his wife.

“The pretty one next to her is Aramis.”

D’ar had never heard a man described as pretty before, but as he looked at the newly introduced man’s face, he realized that it was a good description. He was a little taken back when Aramis bowed at him, but gamely stuck out his hand. There was no way he was ready for another hug from a stranger. “Hi, Mr. Aramis.”

The lack of a hug didn’t seem to annoy his brother’s friend, if his smile was anything to go by. To D’ar’s surprise, Aramis told him that he went by his last name too and when he told D’ar why, the boy immediately understood. In fact, his lips twitched when Aramis wondered aloud what his parents had been thinking. D’ar wasn’t terribly fond of the name Charles, except that it was what his parents had called him, but he had to admit that Charles was a far better option than Rene. Or Olivier for that matter.

There was one more person in the room to be introduced and Athos soon did so. “And, last but not least, the big one is Porthos Vallon. And, don’t worry, he’s not as scary as he looks.”

D’ar was glad that Athos added that last bit, because with his size and his scar, the last man was a bit intimidating.

The newly introduced Porthos grinned and that changed everything. Far from being menacing, the huge smile made the man seemed jolly and D’ar wasn’t even too spooked when the big man claimed to eat little brothers for breakfast. In addition to friendliness, Porthos radiated confidence and strength, so when Athos told D’ar that Porthos had been a system kid too, he didn’t believe him at first.

“You were? But you’re so . . . .” D’ar didn’t know how to finish that without sounding disrespectful.

Porthos’ smile changed, but didn’t leave his face. “Big?” He supplied the word for D’ar. “I am now, but I wasn’t always.”

The large man went on to offer to listen if D’ar needed to talk about his foster care experiences. D’ar didn’t know what to say about that. He felt better now that his brother not only had accepted the use of his dad’s name, but also that Athos and his friend both used their last names as first names too. That was different, though, than confiding in Athos or Porthos about foster care. Still, it didn’t seem like a very good idea to say that and so he kept silent.

This time it was his social worker that saved D’ar from an awkward moment.

“Mr. Athos, maybe you could show Ch-, I mean, D’ar, to his room now? I’m sure he’s anxious to see where he’ll be staying. ” Mrs. Royalton suggested.

D’ar winced, not from Mrs. Royalton’s suggestion, but from the way she’d stumbled over his name. He was reminded that he hadn’t been entirely fair to the woman, especially considering how nice she’d been to him. He resolved to apologize to her the first chance he got.

As Athos showed them around, D’ar’s second impression was the same as his first; it was a very uncluttered apartment. There weren’t a lot of knickknacks around and, after a previous foster home where the mother had collected figurines of big-eyed children, D’ar was glad. He couldn’t help but notice, though, that there were no pictures. Well, except for his identification picture, which was held on Athos’ refrigerator with a magnet. His mortification over that almost eclipsed his joy at there being no lock or chain on the appliance.

D’ar dutifully followed his brother and Mrs. Royalton down the hall towards the bedroom, glad that Athos’ friends didn’t join them. It was a big apartment and what it lacked in the number of rooms it made up in the size of them. His relief at them staying behind wasn’t because all six of them didn’t fit, but was due to the fact that D’ar was beginning to feel like he was on display

The two adults moved into the bedroom first and Athos was apologizing for it even as D’ar walked in. D’ar wasn’t sure why; the room was huge. Yes, it was a little bare, but D’ar preferred that to having a bedroom decorated with stuff he didn’t like, but had no hope of changing. The room was very colorless, which made the blue comforter on the bed stand out like a beacon. D’ar’s eyes were drawn to it, but soon moved to one of the few decorative things he’d seen in the whole apartment. There was a picture frame on the bedside table and even from across the room, D’ar recognized some familiar faces.

The duffle bag that he’d been so protective of before was dropped carelessly as D’ar hurried across the room. Sure enough, his parents smiled up at him. D’ar reached out and touched the images, amazed at how much clearer they were than the ones he’d printed off from the internet. Before he knew it, he was sitting on the bed and Mrs. Royalton was asking if he was all right.

“Where did you get these?” D’ar blinked back tears as he asked his brother where the pictures had come from. It was nothing short of miraculous.

The mattress dipped as Mrs. Royalton sat on the bed next to him. She didn’t seem as impressed by the presence of the photos as D’ar was. “Yes, Athos, where did you get these?” Her voice had a bit more bite to it than D’ar’s had.

Athos’ response came from closer than D’ar expected and he realized that his brother was crouched in front of him. It looked uncomfortable, but Athos didn’t seem to mind.

“My agency wouldn’t be much of an investigative firm if I couldn’t discover information about my own brother,” Athos replied. He didn’t sound very happy and D’ar inwardly flinched when Athos turned to him. To his relief, his brother was very kind when he spoke to D’ar. “I read about how everything was lost in the fire and so when Constance came across these while doing some research, I asked her to contact the newspaper they’d ran in to get copies. I thought you might like to have them; I have a similar set on my desk downstairs.”

D’ar was amazed that Athos and his friends had gone to so much trouble and for a brother Athos hadn’t even met yet. Despite his best efforts, though, D’ar started to tear up. Seeing his parents’ faces clearly for the first time in years was almost too much, especially after what had gone on in the last day. He was grateful for the photos, though, and didn’t want Athos to think he was sad, when it was really the opposite.

“I love them, thank you.” D’ar sniffed and quickly wiped at his eyes before any of the tears could leak. He looked at Mrs. Royalton, embarrassed at the mess he was making of things. “Sorry.”

Mrs. Royalton assured D’ar didn’t have anything to be sorry for, but the arm she wrapped his shoulders was far more comforting – as was her request to Athos to give them a minute. It was a huge relief when Athos readily agreed. D’ar looked down, trying to compose himself. A brief touch to his knee caused him to look up.

“Ms. Royalton’s right, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Athos smiled gently at him and D’ar relaxed a little. Hopefully that smile didn’t mean that his brother thought him a crybaby. “Please, come out and join us when you feel up to it, but feel free to take as much time as you need.”

Athos left the room and D’ar took a deep, but shaky breath.

“Are you okay?” Mrs. Royalton asked him quietly.

D’ar nodded. “I was just surprised.” He held up the frame so that Mrs. Royalton could see the photos better. “The only pictures I had of my folks were printouts of their obituaries and those weren’t very good. They were all blurry.” He handed the frame to the social worker. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Before Mrs. Royalton could say anything, D’ar got up and walked across the room to where he’d dumped his duffle bag. He picked it up with considerably more care than when he’d dropped it and carried it back to the bed. He rummaged through it until he found the printouts. They were a bit crumpled, so he smoothed them before handing them to Mrs. Royalton.

Mrs. Royalton’s breathing hitched as she compared the two sets of photos and when she looked up at D’ar, her eyes were bright. He couldn’t swear, though, that she had tears in her eyes. “I can see why you’re so happy to get better quality photos.”

D’ar sat back down. “Yeah.” Mrs. Royalton handed him the frame back and wrapped her arm around him again. D’ar felt even more guilty; she’d been nothing but nice to him, but he still hadn’t trusted her. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you,” Mrs. Royalton chided him gently even as she smiled. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. After everything you’ve been through, a few tears are more than understandable.”

“Not about that,” D’ar shook his head and looked away. “About not telling you about my name.”

“Hey, none of that,” the social worker put her fingers under D’ar’s chin and turned his head so that he was looking at her again. “I’ll admit that you caught me by surprise a little, but I’m not at all angry.”

“All the other adults I told thought I was being difficult or silly,” D’ar continued with an explanation even though she hadn’t asked for one. “And I really, really wanted you to like me.”

His last comment brought out her smile again. “But I do like you, D’ar.” The social worker leaned forward and whispered to him. “Don’t tell anyone, because we’re supposed to care for each child the same, but of all the kids I work with, you’re my favorite.”

“I am?” D’ar asked, surprised.

“You are,” she replied firmly. “You’re the bravest boy I know.” Mrs. Royalton sighed. “But even though you’re my favorite, I still didn’t think to ask you if you had any photos of your parents or if you wanted some. I think it speaks very highly of your brother that he thought of it all on his own.”

D’ar nodded. “Yeah.”

“And he understood immediately about your name,” Mrs. Royalton went on. “Are you feeling a little better about staying here?”

“Yeah,” D’ar nodded. “Athos seems really nice.”

“Good,” Mrs. Royalton squeezed D’ar’s shoulders once and then stood up. “Shall we put your things away?”

It didn’t take long, as D’ar didn’t have much. To his relief, Mrs. Royalton got started on putting his few shirts and pants on hangers before hanging them in the closet. The more embarrassing items, like the underwear and too-short pajamas, were left to D’ar to stow in the closet’s built-in dresser. He only needed one drawer. 

After he was done with the clothes, D’ar put the school items he had with him on the built-in shelves and carefully added the obituary print-outs. He didn’t need the photos anymore, thanks to Athos’ gift, but was reluctant to let them go. He had the words memorized, but still enjoyed reading them.

He and Mrs. Royalton finished at about the same time. She was frowning when D’ar turned back to her, but smiled when she noticed D’ar looking at her.

“Why don’t we go join the others?” She suggested. “I think there might be some dessert waiting for us, not to mention a brother who’d like to get to you know you better.”

D’ar gamely followed his social worker down the hall back to the main living area. He felt embarrassed about having gotten a little worked up, but had to admit that he did feel better. When they came back into the living room, he and Mrs. Royalton obviously interrupted a conversation that Athos and his friends were having. Thankfully, none of them seemed upset about it and, even better, the awkwardness about the photos wasn’t even mentioned.

“Is anybody hungry for dessert?” Mrs. Bonacieux asked. “D’ar, we have cake and ice cream.”

Mrs. Duras hadn’t really believed in dessert for the kids. The cookies Mrs. Royalton and Officer Li had passed around were the special ones saved for Mr. Duras. D’ar’s mouth started watering at the thought of cake and ice cream, but he looked at Mrs. Royalton for permission first. When she nodded at him, he answered Mrs. Bonacieux. “That sounds good, thanks.”

The next few minutes were taken up with showing D’ar the cake and dishing everything up. D’ar had no special feelings for kites, but he thought it was very nice that they’d tried to get something more for a boy than flowers were. Maybe Mrs. Bonacieux wasn’t so bad, despite the way she’d pounced on him with such an overly enthusiastic hug.

Once he was seated and had cake with ice cream in front of him, D’ar ate with gusto. He tried to eat more slowly than he had with dinner, not wanting to embarrass Mrs. Royalton. While he enjoyed his treat, he observed his brother’s friends and didn’t know what to think about their conversation. They’d been betting about his name? He wasn’t sure he’d seen adults like these before.

“Charles,” D’ar finally answered Aramis’ original question. “That’s what my mom always called me and my dad too. So it was always Charles, even at school and church.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. His name wasn’t as bad as Olivier or Rene, but he’d received his fair share of teasing too. “Especially not Chuck or Chaz.”

For a moment, D’ar felt guilty; Charles was the name that his mother had picked out for him and D’ar was opting to use something else. Still, he was using his mom’s last name, so was still honoring her. She’d loved his dad a lot and D’ar felt better when it occurred to him that she would want Alexander d’Artagnan remembered too.

Athos had been watching the conversation, a slight smile playing about his lips. As D’ar told the others that he’d only gone by Charles, however, D’ar’s brother looked a little sterner.

“All right, you need to pay up,” Athos told the others.

If he’d been confused at the way the adults acted before, D’ar was downright shocked when his brother insisted that D’ar had won the bet. Athos insisted, though, even though there were some protests. Soon D’ar was holding $15 in his hand – was betting even legal? “I can’t take this.”

After Athos encouraged him to keep it, D’ar turned to Mrs. Royalton, sure that she would be frowning at the whole thing and hoping she’d realize that it wasn’t his fault. Instead of looking upset, though, the social worker was giggling and trying to hide it behind her hand. He felt better about keeping the money when Mrs. Royalton told him it was okay, although he wouldn’t want to be one of the adults if they tried it again and Mrs. Royalton reported them to Judge Freddy.

D’ar stowed the money in his pocket, but it was on his mind while the conversation continued. He was old enough to know that $15 wouldn’t buy much – but he hadn’t had any money he could call his own since his father died. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with it, but just knowing it was in his pocket made him feel better. 

It was a good thing that D’ar made his peace with being given $15, because the surprises kept coming. It started with Athos asking for D’ar’s input on the color of his room. D’ar covered his shock by just shrugging and deflecting, but his answer hadn’t been a lie. It had been so long since anyone had asked for his opinion on anything about his bedroom that it never occurred to him that he’d have any input.

Being told they were going to shop for clothes wasn’t that much of a shock and was actually a relief. The other kids at school had made it glaringly clear that his clothing was more worn that just about anybody else’s. Funny how he’d never given what he wore a second thought until it became something that other children could tease him about.

The phone, however, was a different story. D’ar wasn’t just surprised that his brother was going to get him one; he was flabbergasted. “A phone? For me?”

“For you,” Athos confirmed. He went on to explain that it would be needed for logistical reasons for coordinating D’ar’s trips to and from school.

D’ar lowered his head, suddenly worried again. He was pretty sure that his school wasn’t anywhere near where Athos lived. How long would it take for his brother to get tired of chauffeuring his pesky little brother twice a day?

Thankfully the conversation veered into a discussion about restaurants, something that D’ar was hardly an expert on. It was something of a relief to sit quietly and concentrate on his cake. Well, his cake and his brother. While the adults talked, D’ar snuck a few peeks at Athos. His older brother seemed nice enough, if quiet, the way Mrs. Royalton had described.

Eventually, one of his brother’s friends directed a question at D’ar, asking him if he’d ever had Thai food. D’ar had, when his Uncle Jamie had ordered take out, and had liked it very much. D’ar opened his mouth, intending to say so, but to his embarrassment, all he did was yawn. 

Even though the grownups laughed, D’ar blushed as he looked down. What a baby they must think him. “Sorry.”

“No offense taken,” Athos assured him. “From what I understand, you’ve had a long day.”

Then the moment came that D’ar had been dreading – Mrs. Royalton said she had to leave.

His stomach fell as the social worker got up from the table. There was a slight delay as she and Athos argued over clearing the dirty dishes, but all too soon, D’ar was at the door, watching as his social worker put her coat on. He tried not to let on that he was upset, but as usual, Mrs. Royalton saw through his efforts.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” she said softly to him. “Athos has shown that this is the best possible home for you.”

“Yeah.” D’ar’s agreement was less than enthusiastic.

Her smile was sad. “Just give it a couple of days, you’ll see. And he did say you were getting a phone tomorrow. If any problems do crop up, you can always call me or Judge Fredrick.” Mrs. Royalton leaned forward to whisper as though she were confiding something. “And I still have that pepper spray if I have to come rescue you.”

The idea of the petite Mrs. Royalton confronting a man like Athos armed only with that little spray bottle made D’ar smile. He had no doubt she’d do it, and be successful too, but it sure sounded like a David and Goliath situation to D’ar.

“There’s that smile,” Mrs. Royalton’s smile was less sad than it had been a few moments before. “Just have faith, D’ar, I really think it’s going to be okay.”

Mrs. Royalton’s hand was on the door when D’ar sensed movement behind him.

“Thank you for everything,” Athos said quietly. His brother didn’t touch D’ar, but D’ar felt reassured by his presence anyway.

“You’re welcome, it has been my pleasure,” Mrs. Royalton’s gaze dropped to D’ar. “And I’ll be talking to you soon; I look forward to hearing about how things are going with your brother.”

Since they’d just talked about the phone and calling, D’ar figured that last comment was directed at Athos instead of him. He wasn’t sure why, but he had a mental image again of Mrs. Royalton going after Athos with the pepper spray. It wasn’t as funny a second time. 

“Okay,” D’ar said, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Bye.”

Mrs. Royalton stepped forward and gave D’ar a quick hug. He was too startled by it to hug back much, but that might have been a good thing – he might not have been willing to let go.

“Good night,” she told him and then turned around and walked out the door. 

D’ar stared forlornly after her and, this time, Athos did touch him, although there was no hugging involved. Instead, his older brother carefully put a hand on D’ar’s shoulder.

“I know that everything’s strange right now, but it’s going to be okay.” Athos’s reassured him in a solemn voice, unknowingly echoing Mrs. Royalton’s earlier words. “I will do everything in my power to make it okay.”

“I’m all right,” D’ar said and willed himself to make the words true. Resolute, but exhausted, he shut the door and turned around to face Athos. “Would you mind if I went to bed now?”

Almost, he expected Athos to refuse, but his brother surprised him again and readily agreed. D’ar supposed since he’d just yawned in everyone’s face at the table, his brother had figured out that he really was tired. Athos seemed a little anxious that D’ar could figure out how to work a shower, but given the number of foster homes he’d been in, D’ar was pretty confident that he could work any shower system ever made.

“I should probably warn you that I’ve been known to sleep a little late in the mornings,” Athos looked embarrassed to admit it, but D’ar was glad of the heads-up. “So if you get up before I do, feel free to help yourself to anything you want to eat. Or you can wake me. Same goes if you wake up during the night.”

D’ar was more likely to eat his own toenail clippings than to deliberately wake his brother the very first night in his custody, but he decided that wouldn’t be a good thing to tell Athos. Instead, he just acknowledged the offer. “Okay.”

As he started walking towards the hallway, one of Athos’ friends noticed and asked if he were going to bed. D’ar answered and wished everyone a goodnight, but the exchange caused Athos to tell D’ar something else. 

“D’ar, I didn’t have the chance to show you this before,” Athos said. “But there’s a lock on the inside of your bedroom door. Porthos suggested it.”

“A lock?” D’ar’s stomach sank; he did not like the sounds of that. While he appreciated having a door, he did not like the idea of not being able to get of the room. His concern must have shown on his face, though, because Athos’ friend was quick to reassure him.

“On the inside,” Porthos emphasized. “Your brother asked me what made me feel better when moving into a new foster home and I told him the one thing I always wanted more than anything else was a lock on my door. So Athos had us help him install one.”

Seeming to realize that he may have frightened his brother, Athos added his support. “And I won’t be offended if you use it. I know you won’t need it, but I don’t expect you to know that yet. By all means, use it if it brings you any comfort; that’s what it’s there for.”

The inside of the door? That changed things. D’ar not only had a door to his bedroom, but one that he could lock. None of the foster homes he’d been in had that feature. He relaxed enough that when he realized that all of the adults were staring at him that he managed both a wave and a smile. “Goodnight, everybody. Thanks.”

The others all wished him a goodnight in return and D’ar knew he was being watched as he walked towards his bedroom. Even though they were friendly eyes, it was a relief to reach the bedroom and shut the sturdy door behind him. Sure enough, there was a deadbolt on the inside of the door and with a feeling of immense satisfaction, D’ar turned the knob. The click as the lock engaged was music in his ears.

D’ar put his back to the door and slowly slid down until his butt hit the floor. He immediately drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. He felt empty with exhaustion, but also stuffed with all sorts of emotions. There was anxiety and grief and hope and anger and fear all tangled up in a ball that settled in his stomach. Of those, by far the scariest was hope, because D’ar knew all too well that hope usually led to disappointment and disappointment made all the bad emotions just that much worse. For an undetermined amount of time, all the boy could do was sit there and let everything he was feeling simply wash through him.

In the end, it wasn’t the lure of his bed that got D’ar back on his feet, but the sight of his parents. The picture frame had been left turned so that if faced the door, which meant that it currently faced D’ar. His mother’s picture was similar to the one in the obituary, so it was really seeing his father again that was so compelling. D’ar sat on the bed and drank in the sight of his dad as he remembered him and not the photo from the obituary, which bore little resemblance to the parent that D’ar had loved so dearly.

Eventually, even marveling over having his parents with him again, even if only in a photo, couldn’t overcome D’ar’s exhaustion. Yawns overtook him and he reluctantly put the picture frame down. For a moment he contemplated taking a shower, but was just too tired. He wasn’t too tired to hang his clothes up, though. There was no doubt that Athos was far nicer than Mrs. Duras, but the rest of the apartment had been squeaky clean. D’ar did not want to make a bad impression by leaving his clothes strewn about. Besides, he didn’t have very many things to wear and even though they were supposed to go shopping the next day, he didn’t want to be careless with what he did have.

D’ar’s pajamas hadn’t magically grown overnight and D’ar wrinkled his nose as he put them on. He made a mental note to not leave his bedroom the next morning until he was dressed. His clothes might be worn, but at least they fit better than the pajamas did. He pulled back the comforter and slid into the bed, sighing in satisfaction at how comfortable it felt. Everything about it was new and D’ar appreciated the sensation, even as the new sheets made his pajamas seem even more pathetic.

“Good night, Mom. Good night, Dad,” D’ar said to the pictures. He would have wrapped himself around the frame like it was a teddy bear, but he was too worried about breaking it. He’d just gotten his parents’ images back; he wasn’t willing to lose them again so quickly.

With all of the ups and downs of the past few days, D’ar fully expected to have a hard time falling asleep, but in that he was wrong. He was out almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Unfortunately for D’ar, he didn’t stay that way nearly long enough.

D’ar woke up with a strangled cry for his father on his lips and midway in a fight with the snarl of sheets and blankets that held him captive. Certain of no more than the frantic need to get away, D’ar struggled to get free, but let out another cry of fear and frustration when he only succeeded in getting the covers wrapped around him even more tightly. He kicked desperately, certain at any moment that someone was going to grab and hurt him, but instead found himself abruptly on the floor and not quite certain how he got there.

He lay there, panting, barely alert enough to hope that he hadn’t made enough noise to disturb his brother when a knock came on his door.

“D’ar, are you all right?” Athos’ voice was quiet, like he was worried that D’ar might not be awake.

For a moment D’ar was tempted to pretend that he was, in fact, still sleeping, but he didn’t know how his brother would react. Athos seemed like a really smart guy - with D’ar’s luck, Athos would figure out that D’ar was lying and then what would happen?

“I’m fine,” D’ar finally answered. “Thanks.”

For a moment, D’ar thought his answer was enough, but then Athos’ voice came again.

“Are you sure?”

D’ar was only sure of one thing at the moment – he was far from ‘fine,’ but he didn’t want to be trouble already for his brother. His nightmares had caused more than one foster family to send him away. D’ar hadn’t known Athos very long, but he already knew that he wanted to get to know his brother better. Besides, Mrs. Royalton would be so disappointed if D’ar messed up the new home she’d worked so hard on arranging for him. Just the thought of that happening was enough to make D’ar start to shake.

“Yes, thank you.” This time, D’ar really did lie to his brother. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t, I hadn’t gone to bed yet.” Athos’ words brought D’ar great relief, but it was short-lived. “I’m going to fix myself a snack. You’re welcome to join me if you like. Or not, if you just want to go back to sleep.”

No doubt the offer had been made in kindness, but D’ar didn’t know how to respond. If he took Athos up on it, would he be keeping his brother awake longer than Athos wanted? But if he didn’t, would D’ar offend him?

Sensitive to the fact that Athos was probably still waiting for an answer, D’ar hedged his bets and decided not to commit. “All right. Thanks.”

A strange thing happened as D’ar heard the faint rustling sound that Athos made as he moved away from the door. The bedroom seemed big before, but in the dark and with the last of his remnants of his nightmare still causing D’ar’s heart to thump loudly, the bedroom seemed cavernous. And dangerous. And empty of everything but D’ar and his fear.

D’ar held out for a few minutes, but with his anxiety not diminishing, he decided that he didn’t want to be alone anymore. He picked himself up and moved to the door, turning the lock as quietly as he could. Athos was in the kitchen and D’ar walked over to join him, drawn both by the lights and the man’s presence.

Athos, to D’ar’s immense relief, didn’t ask him about why he’d been crying out during the night. Instead, his brother had the stuff out to make peanut butter sandwiches and simply asked if D’ar wanted one. D’ar said yes, although he wasn’t truly hungry. Still, it was an excuse to be in the kitchen so late at night. He put his head in his hands as Athos got busy, hoping to hide how rattled he was.

A sandwich appeared on a plate in front of him and D’ar dutifully picked it up. He took a bite and, while he was chewing, a glass of milk soon joined the plate. D’ar found that after the first bite, he wasn’t really forcing it anymore; he was hungrier than he thought or maybe it was just that he hadn’t had peanut butter in so long.

After getting his own sandwich and milk, Athos joined him and for several moments the two brothers were silent. D’ar dreaded any conversation that started, not ready to explain about his nightmares. Athos was slow to speak, but when he did, the subject was not what D’ar expected.

“I never had peanut butter until I was college,” Athos stated quite casually.

D’ar was startled, not just because Athos wasn’t drilling him about why he’d been making noise during the middle of the night, but also at the thought of not having peanut butter until you were grown up. Peanut butter was a universal food, wasn’t it? Except for cheapskates like Mrs. Duras and, after seeing how the apartment was decked out, D’ar had a feeling his brother hadn’t wanted for much, even when he was a kid.

Not seeming to be bothered by his little brother’s lack of comment, Athos continued. “My mother was a bit of a food snob. She wouldn’t allow it in the house. Of course, her tactic backfired, now it’s one of my favorite things.” Athos didn’t smile, but his eyes twinkled as he put a finger over his lips. “Please don’t tell Aramis, though. He’d tease me forever about it.”

D’ar considered for a minute. Such a revelation, and a request, required a response. “I like peanut butter too,” he confided, feeling a little more settled.

“Have you tried it on chocolate ice cream?” Athos asked.

“No, but I like it on graham crackers with a banana.” D’ar sighed. “Mrs. Duras didn’t buy peanut butter, she said it was too expensive.”

His comment caused his brother’s face to suddenly go expressionless and D’ar began to worry that he’d said something wrong. It only lasted a moment, though, before Athos spoke again and, to D’ar’s relief, his voice didn’t sound angry. “Well, I’m happy to say you can get used to having it back in your life.” 

D’ar managed a smile. “Good.” His response referred not only to getting to have peanut butter again, but also to the fact that Athos wasn’t angry with him – but Athos didn’t need to know that last part.

The peanut butter tasted wonderful, but it also made him thirsty. D’ar picked up his milk and took a drink, indulging in a big gulp since the milk wasn’t restricted by his brother as it had been by Mrs. Duras. Across from him, he noticed Athos doing the same.

Athos took one drink of the milk and then a strange expression came over his face. It looked to D’ar like his older brother was going to vomit, but instead Athos turned his head to the side and spit the milk out. 

“My God, you actually enjoy that?” Athos wiped at his face and then ran water in the sink, scooping it up to his mouth to wash out the taste. “It’s vile.”

All in all, Athos looked like a big fluffy cat that had just got its paws wet. He was clearly annoyed, but just as clearly, that annoyance wasn’t directed at D’ar. That meant that his brother’s expression wasn’t at all intimidating. In fact, it was downright funny. To his horror, D’ar giggled. He tried to stop, which just made him snort and that sound made him giggle harder.

Athos looked at D’ar. “You think that’s funny?”

D’ar clapped a hand over his mouth, but it didn’t help. He giggled again. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it is funny.” Athos’ lips twitched and then he smiled, although he fell short of laughing.

Finally getting his giggles under control, D’ar pointed to Athos’ chin. “You missed a spot.” 

Athos wiped at it again and when he turned back to D’ar, his expression was serious, but his eyes were twinkling. “I don’t suppose that I could convince you not to tell Aramis or Porthos about this, could I?”

D’ar hadn’t known his brother’s friends long, but it had been easy to tell that they liked to tease. Teasing sometimes turned into bullying and bullying was something that D’ar knew all too well. He didn’t want that for Athos. “I won’t tell them,” D’ar promised. He bit his lip, hoping that what he was about to say wasn’t making a wrong assumption. “Brothers stick together, right?”

“Right.” Athos broke out into a huge grin and something told D’ar that it was a rare thing for his brother to do. Athos held out his glass, now full of water. “A toast – to brothers.”

“To brothers,” D’ar was happy enough to toast, even though he was just beginning to learn what it was to be a brother. If it made the warm feeling that was beginning to start in his chest continue, though, D’ar was all for it.

The two ate in silence for a few minutes, D’ar washing his sandwich down with more milk while Athos stuck to water. It was a comfortable silence, though, and D’ar felt more relaxed than he had when he’d first emerged from his room. 

“Laughter, I have found,” Athos stated, looking at his sandwich instead of at D’ar. “Is often the best way to dispel the last of a bad dream.”

D’ar swallowed, hard. It looked like they were having that conversation after all.

Athos either didn’t notice D’ar’s discomfort or was pretty good at pretending. “I’m rather plagued by them. Not as much now as I used to be, I’m glad to say.” 

His brother had nightmares too? D’ar was floored; Athos was a grown-up; D’ar hadn’t known that grown-ups had bad dreams too. Still, he didn’t stay shocked for long, not when he had someone who’d not only had bad dreams, but was also easy to talk to and might have some advice.

“Why did they stop?” D’ar spoke before he lost his nerve. “Did you laugh them away?”

Athos smiled at him, rewarding D’ar’s trust with continued understanding. “I wish it were that easy. Sometimes talking about them to someone else helps, but sometimes you don’t want to speak about them because you’re afraid that will make them more real.” He shrugged. “At least, it felt that way to me. My worst dreams were of things that had happened in my past, so they were more like memories. With those kind of nightmares, I found that having a snack was the best thing to do. Having something in my belly helps ground me in the here and now and reminds me that I’m not stuck in something that’s already happened.”

While his brother spoke, D’ar was thinking really hard. Was that what his dreams were, memories? No longer hungry, D’ar put his sandwich down and picked at the bread. “My dreams are really bad, but when I wake up, I can’t exactly remember them. I just know they’re about my dad.” An echo of the fear that had awakened him in the first place made it hard to stifle a shiver. “And that I’m really scared.”

Athos didn’t mock D’ar for being frightened. In fact, he offered to help. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Not daring to look up or trusting himself to speak, D’ar just shook his head.

“That’s okay, I’m not going to force you to tell me if you don’t want to,” Athos said and he didn’t sound as though he was disappointed in having a little brother that came with so many problems. “If you ever change your mind, though, and think talking about it will make you feel better, please know you can always come to me.”

“Okay,” D’ar whispered. He felt the need to explain why he was reluctant to talk about his nightmares. “Some of my foster families got rid of me because they got tired of my nightmares waking them up at night.”

To D’ar’s relief, Athos immediately spoke to reassure him. “I’m your brother, not a foster family. And I will never send you away. Not for nightmares, not for anything.” 

“Okay,” D’ar took a deep breath. Maybe if he heard that three or four thousand more times, he’ eventually believe it. In the meantime, he was curious to know how Athos had dealt with his bad dream problem. “So how did you get your nightmares to go away, if you didn’t laugh them away? Did you eat them away?”

His question caused Athos to smile. “No, not exactly. I did talk about them, to friends and a counselor, that’s why I offered to listen if you ever want to talk about yours. And I should tell you that Judge Freddy has instructed me that you will be seeing a counselor.”

D’ar frowned; he didn’t like the sound of that. He had a feeling it would involve yet another person poking at him; he’d had enough of that with Dr. Archie. “What’s a counselor?”

“It’s someone who’s trained to listen to people’s problems and gives them advice on how to deal with them.”

That didn’t sound good. D’ar didn’t like talking about stuff to people he knew, even Dr. Archie, let alone someone new to him. “Do I have to? I don’t think I want to tell a stranger stuff about myself.”

Athos didn’t look too happy about it either, but it didn’t sound like he had much choice. “Judge Freddy says you do. Do you want to tell her you don’t?”

“No,” D’ar shook his head. He liked Judge Freddy a lot, but he had no intention of crossing her, especially not after hearing all of those stories that Mrs. Royalton had told him earlier. “I’ll go.”

“I think Judge Freddy is right,” Athos seemed to think it was a good idea too. “I think you should keep an open mind and give it a try. It’ll be worth it if helps with the nightmares.”

An end to the bad dreams would be worth a lot and D’ar felt found himself agreeing. “I suppose s-. . . .” To his embarrassment, D’ar yawned in the middle of his sentence.

Instead of being insulted, Athos yawned too and then he tapped D’ar’s plate with one finger. “Take the last bite of your sandwich and then I think it’s off to bed with you. I will soon follow.”

D’ar suddenly realized how very tired he felt. “Okay.” 

When D’ar was done with his food, he tried to put away the dirty dishes but Athos took them from him and directed him to bed. D’ar started to obey, but as Athos turned to put their dirty dishes in the sink, D’ar realized he needed to try to show Athos how much he’d appreciated the snack and, especially, the talk about nightmares. He started back towards his brother and must not have made any noise, because when Athos turned back around, he jumped.

“Thanks, Athos,” D’ar said, addressing his brother by name for the first time. 

Clearly pleased, Athos reached out ruffled D’ar’s hair. D’ar didn’t like that gesture from most people, but it felt right with Athos. What felt even better was the way his brother smiled and responded to him.. “You’re certainly welcome.”

Overwhelmed with emotion, D’ar gave in to impulse and darted forward and hugged Athos as hard as he could. He thought he’d made a mistake because his older brother stood stiffly at first, but before D’ar could pull away, Athos’ arms came up and hugged him back. It felt good. For the first time in a long, long time, D’ar felt safe.

He, almost, felt like he was home. Or maybe that he could be home if only he didn’t screw it up.

“I think I’m going to like it here,” D’ar’s stated, feeling especially brave because he couldn’t see Athos’ face.

Athos voice was a little hoarse when he responded “That’s good, because I know that I’m going to like having you here.” He patted D’ar on the back and D’ar sank even further into the embrace, reminded of when his father had done the same thing. 

D’ar enjoyed the hug for a few moments and then figured he better break it off. Athos might not want a clingy little brother. He pulled back and blushed, embarrassed by his own need to be held. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Athos responded easily. He didn’t seem too upset at being pounced the way Mrs. Bonacieux had pounced D’ar earlier. 

D’ar felt Athos’ eyes on him as he walked back to his bedroom, but the sensation of being watched didn’t feel creepy. Instead, he felt cared about and that feeling stayed once he got back into his bedroom. It wasn’t big and scary anymore to him and was once more just a place to sleep. He still locked the door behind him, though. He felt a lot more comfortable about Athos and his living situation, but he was still so happy to have a door that D’ar locked simply because he could.

He was actually grinning when he climbed back into bed. D’ar had a door with a lock and a refrigerator without one. He had pictures of his parents. Best of all, D’ar had a brother who, despite everything, actually seemed to like D’ar.

As he drifted off into sleep, D’ar began to feel that Mrs. Royalton and Judge Freddy were right after all; living with Athos was the best possible place for D’ar to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the people who asked when the next chapter was going to be out, I promise that I didn't mean to lie. At the time I answered, I fully expected to not post until the end of the month. Frankly, though, this chapter kicked my ass. While I still think seeing the brothers' first meeting from D'ar's point of view was important, it wasn't a lot of fun to write. Now that section is done, I'm going ahead and posting. The next chapter will likely also be from D'ar's point of view.


	8. Chapter 8

Even though he was feeling better after his talk with Athos, D’ar still expected it to be hard getting back to sleep. Thankfully, he was wrong about that. He had time to yawn once he was under the covers, but the next thing D’ar knew, it was light outside. Granted, it was weak sunshine that showed that it was fairly early in the morning, but the night had definitely passed.

Mrs. Duras hadn’t tolerated what she called slothfulness and expected the children to be up early, even on the weekend. As a result, it had been months since D’ar had the luxury of just lolling around in bed. He lay quietly for an indeterminate amount of time, eyes at half-mast but not able to drift back into sleep. He eventually realized that he was listening for sounds of movement in the apartment, but everything was silent. Athos had warned that he was a late riser and clearly he hadn’t been exaggerating.

When his stomach growled, D’ar decided it was time to get up and he automatically made the bed as soon as he was out of it. Mrs. Duras hadn’t tolerated sloppiness and, given that the rest of the apartment was so neat, maybe Athos didn’t either.

After the bed was straightened, D’ar looked from the bathroom to the bedroom door before sighing. His pajamas were awful and the last thing he wanted to do was to go out into the apartment looking like that again. D’ar was also aware that he hadn’t showered the night before and didn’t want his brother to think him dirty. Stifling a groan, D’ar told his stomach it would have to wait and dutifully gathered what he’d need for a shower. He didn’t have many clothes to choose from and D’ar hoped that Athos wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with him.

The bathroom door had a lock on it too and D’ar happily used it. Maybe having a door that could lock would get old someday or maybe he’d just go locking things for the rest of his life. At the moment, D’ar didn’t care.

Like the rest of the apartment, the shower was nice and big. It was also easy to use, which made Athos’ question from the night before seem a little bit odd. Maybe he just didn’t know what to expect of D’ar, just like D’ar hadn’t known what to expect from his big brother. They had a lot to learn about each other, that was for sure.

D’ar made quick work of showering and washing his hair; he didn’t know if he’d ever take a long shower again, not after Mrs. Duras had walked in on him that one time. Maybe once he got used to having locks, he could dare lingering under the water. He wasn’t to that point yet, though, and sped through the whole process. Afterwards, he was careful to pick up after himself in the bathroom just as he had with this bed, eager to make a good impression.

By the time he was done, D’ar’s stomach was complaining because he hadn’t had breakfast yet. Even so, D’ar was reluctant to leave his room. Unlike after his nightmare, when it had seemed big and scary, in the daylight his bedroom felt safe and leaving it meant he’d eventually see Athos again. Although he was mostly looking forward to that, D’ar couldn’t help but also feel that every time he interacted with his brother was another opportunity for him to screw up and get sent packing.

Eventually hunger won out and D’ar quietly unlocked the door and stuck his head out into the short hallway. There was no sign of Athos and the door to his brother’s bedroom was still shut. Telling himself firmly that he had permission to get up before Athos, D’ar left his bedroom and walked down the hall into the main living area. Still no Athos.

D’ar perched on the end of one of the leather chair for a moment, letting his hand stroke its smooth surface. It felt rich compared to the worn and nubby fabric of the sofa that the Durases had owned. There was still no sound coming from the other bedroom. In fact, the only sounds in the whole apartment were the ticking of a wall clock and the rumbling of D’ar’s stomach.

Even though he was too smart to believe that the sound of his stomach would be enough to wake his brother, D’ar still gave anxious peeks towards the bedroom as he got up and quietly padded into the kitchen. D’ar tentatively opened up one cabinet after another. They contained the normal variety of things that would be expected in a kitchen, pots and pans, dishes, and glasses. The odd thing was that everything looked new and unused.

Having scoped out everything in the cabinets, D’ar took a quick look in the refrigerator, relishing the fact that it wasn’t locked. Between the cabinets and the fridge, D’ar’s breakfast options were pretty good, including eggs, cereal and yogurt. In the end, though, he went with another peanut butter sandwich. Since Athos had made him one the night before, D’ar figured it was the least risky of the choices.

With frequent glances in the direction of the bedrooms, D’ar put together his sandwich. He also got out a glass and poured himself some milk, smiling to himself when he remembered his brother’s reaction to its taste the night before. It’d been a relief that Athos had seen the humor in the situation too. Laughing hadn’t been the smartest reaction in the world, but D’ar hadn’t been able to help it. Athos had looked so offended and over milk of all things. 

D’ar didn’t even think of taking his breakfast to the television area; Mrs. Duras wasn’t the only foster parent he’d had who had banned such a thing. Sitting at the table, D’ar craned his neck, looking around the space as he ate his sandwich. As he’d observed the night before, there wasn’t all that much to see, as there were very few decorations. The downside was that it meant that there weren’t many clues to what Athos was really like.

Since it was a boring to just sit and eat by himself, D’ar didn’t linger over his sandwich. He drank the last of his milk and got up, taking his plate and glass to the sink. Once there, he saw the plates from the night before and that reminded him of the dishwasher. The Durases hadn’t had one and instead relied on their foster children to wash all of the dishes, a chore that D’ar hadn’t liked in the least. As a result, D’ar was happy to see that Athos had one. Sticking with the theme that it would be a good idea to show that he wouldn’t be too much trouble to take care of, D’ar decided to unload the dishwasher. It didn’t take long. 

After that, D’ar stood in the kitchen, not really sure what to do.

The black surface of the television gleamed on the far wall and it was tempting to go and turn it on. It’d been months since D’ar had been able to watch anything that he picked out for himself. Still, he hesitated to do it. He didn’t want his first full day with his brother to start out by waking Athos up. Sighing, D’ar gave the television one last longing look and went back to his bedroom. 

Once there, D’ar went straight over to the photo of his parents and picked it up again. His fingers at first stroked the smooth surface of the glass that protected the prints, but that didn’t content him for long. Now that D’ar had a visual reminder of what his folks had looked like, he was itching to draw them. Hopefully the sketches would turn out better than the ones he’d done before. 

D’ar dug out a pencil and his math notebook from the dresser and took them to his desk, flipping the latter to the back to find a fresh sheet of paper. As he did, he came across the picture of the knife he’d drawn while at the group home. D’ar gasped to see it again and immediately slapped his hand over the image. He wasn’t ready to deal with it just yet and certainly didn’t want it next to his math homework or the other sketches he’d made. Breathing heavily, D’ar carefully tore the page with the knife sketch out of his notebook and folded it up, all without having to look at it directly. Once the small square of paper was in his hand, D’ar marched over to the closet where Mrs. Royalton had stowed his duffle bag the night before. He shoved the paper inside and resolutely zipped the bag shut. There. It was contained.

D’ar went back to the desk, but realized before he sat down that his back would be to the door. He didn’t know how quiet Athos was, although based on last night, he didn’t seem like a man that made a lot of noise. D’ar wasn’t afraid of his brother exactly, but he didn’t like the idea of anyone sneaking up on him. He’d had too many bad experiences with that from the bullies at school, not to mention Mrs. Duras. D’ar briefly considered locking the door again, but figured that Athos might not care for that. It was one thing to lock it during the night, but somehow it seemed wrong to use it during the day.

The desk was pretty plain and didn’t have an obvious front and back. D’ar moved the chair so that it was on the other side. The simple change meant that D’ar’s back would no longer be to the door and that he could see anyone come in. It was a simple fix and D’ar hoped that it was a sign of how easily things would be living with his brother.

Once he sat down to draw, though, D’ar forgot about everything else. The photo of his mother wasn’t new, but it was far clearer than the one he’d printed off from the internet. He was glad to have it, but at the moment, hers was not the photo that was calling to him. The picture of his dad was the first time since that horrible night that he’d seen his father as he’d remembered him. It was too much to resist. D’ar put his pencil to the paper and his sense of time immediately fled.

Drawing people was hard and it took all of D’ar’s concentration. He drew, his eyes flitting back and forth between the photo and his paper. Ever so slowly, a sketched likeness of his father began to develop in his notebook. D’ar lovingly recreated the curves of his father’s face, each line reminding him of the man who’d raised him. 

D’ar wasn’t sure how long it took him to create a first draft. When he put his pencil down and sat back, his hand ached a little, so he supposed he’d been at it for some time. He picked up the notebook to study the results – and was disappointed. The likeness of his dad wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t anywhere near good enough either. D’ar moved to tear out the page and start over, but stopped when he heard a noise from the other bedroom.

The sound wasn’t a thump, it was a crash.

Eyes widening with alarm, D’ar was rooted to his chair. He heard Athos’ voice and from the tone of it, was glad he couldn’t make out the words themselves. In short order, he heard the door to Athos’ bedroom open and the man himself appeared in the frame of D’ar’s door.

“Thank god you’re still here,” Athos stated. His brother had the worst case of bed head that D’ar had ever seen – and Athos’ eyes looked almost as wild as his hair did.

“Um, yeah?” D’ar answered, a little confused. “Good morning?”

Athos sagged against the door and ran a hand over his face. “Of course you’re here. You’re a sensible boy, you’d never even think of running away.”

“No.” To D’ar’s utter embarrassment, his response came out as a squeak.

His brother picked up on D’ar’s dismay. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you would.” Athos sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before. “But that’s exactly what I did. I did warn you that I’m not a morning person.”

D’ar relaxed a little, although he did keep a wary eye on his brother. “Yes, you did.”

“I am normally a little more coherent, but the strangest dream woke me up,” Athos stepped into the room. “You see, my friend, Porthos, ran away from foster care when he was about your age. I suppose that’s what prompted it.”

“I know what bad dreams are like.” Given how understanding Athos had been the night before, D’ar was more than willing to give his brother the benefit of the doubt. “What happened to Porthos when he ran away?”

Athos shook his head. “Nothing good, that’s for certain, but it is his story to tell.”

By that point in their conversation, Athos was at the desk and he looked down at what D’ar had been doing. “That’s quite good.”

D’ar blushed, embarrassed having been caught sketching, especially since he wasn’t happy with the result. “Drawing people is hard, I don’t think it’s good at all.”

“I’ll have to disagree, about the quality of the drawing, that is.” Athos nodded at the notebook, silently asking for permission and, with a stifled sigh, D’ar gave it. Athos immediately started slowly paging through the sheets, looking at the other drawings. D’ar was extremely glad he’d removed the sketch of the knife. “Have you had lessons?”

“No,” D’ar shook his head.

He’d always enjoyed drawing and it had become an outlet of sorts after his dad died. Other than the odd class at school, though, there’d been no lessons. Even the good foster parents usually didn’t have the money for things like lessons or D’ar wasn’t with them long enough for them to know of his hobby.

Athos didn’t let the subject drop. “That makes your skill even more impressive.” The corner of his mouth turned up just the barest bit. “I’m told that even my attempts at stick figures are pathetic.” 

To D’ar’s relief, Athos turned the notebook to its original page and slid it back over. “Have you had breakfast?”

D’ar nodded. “Yeah, I had a peanut butter sandwich.” Greatly daring, he added another comment. “And some milk.”

Athos blinked at him for a moment before his lips actually twitched. “Better you than me.” 

They shared small smiles and then Athos seemed to shake himself. “I need coffee and a shower – not necessarily in that order. Afterwards, I think it best we discuss a few things. Sound like a good plan to you?”

“Sure,” D’ar shrugged, trying his best to look nonchalant. It sounded like Athos wanted to have a Big Talk and while it was always good to know what to expect in a new place, it made him a little nervous too. “Whatever you want.”

“All right, I’ll see you in a few minutes,” Athos started to leave and then looked back at D’ar. “And don’t feel like you need to stay cooped up in here. There’s a television in the other room.”

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” D’ar admitted.

“I’m a soldier, or at least I used to be,” Athos explained. “I’ve become trained over the years to wake to certain noises, otherwise I can sleep through pretty much anything. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but you needn’t be quite so careful. This is your home now too.”

D’ar ducked his head. “Okay.”

With his head down, D’ar heard his brother leave rather than saw him go. He could have sworn he heard a small sound, maybe a sigh, but wasn’t positive. D’ar stayed at the desk until he couldn’t hear the pad of Athos’ feet anymore before he let out a sigh of his own. He looked at his sketch again, trying to see it as Athos had. Upon further contemplation, D’ar decided that his drawing was recognizable as Alexander d’Artagnan, if barely. He decided to keep it, at least until he could do a better one.

When a grown-up made a suggestion like not staying cooped up in his room, D’ar knew that it was more along the lines of an order. He put his notebook and pencil away before carefully placing the frame back in its spot on the table by his bed. That done, he’d run out of reasons to avoid going back into the living room and so he ventured out. D’ar listened as he passed Athos’ room, but since he could hear the water running, figured his brother was still in the shower. For a few more minutes, D’ar had the rest of the apartment to himself.

Once in the living room, the television again beckoned. D’ar perched nervously on the edge of the couch and reached for the remote, reminding himself that Athos had suggested it. He turned it on and discovered that it was set to a sports channel. That was fine with D’ar, especially since a lacrosse game was showing. He put the remote down and settled a little comfortably into the cushions.

Some time later, Athos entered the room, dressed and looking far more wake and presentable than when he’d come to D’ar’s room earlier. Athos nodded at D’ar as he passed, but didn’t speak. Instead, he headed into the kitchen and started messing with a machine that D’ar recognized one that made coffee. Having had more than one foster parent that didn’t function well before coffee, he didn’t try to start a conversation with his brother. Instead, D’ar just split his attention between the game and trying to surreptitiously watch what Athos was doing.

In addition to the coffee, Athos puttered around the kitchen and D’ar was amused to see that his brother was making a peanut butter sandwich for breakfast too. He turned his attention back to the game and so was somewhat startled when Athos spoke to him.

“D’ar, did you empty the dishwasher this morning?”

“Um, yeah?” D’ar answered, pretty sure he’d done nothing wrong, especially since Athos’ voice sounded curious rather than accusing. Still, some people were a little picky about their stuff being messed with.

“Thank you,” Athos brought his sandwich and his coffee to the living room, a clue that Athos wasn’t picky about such things, even if the apartment was spotlessly clean. “Do you play?”

“What?” D’ar was momentarily confused and then he realized that his brother was referring to the lacrosse game. “I did at home. In Lupiac, I mean. But I haven’t had much of a chance to since moving to the city. Not unless they were teaching it in school.”

Athos nodded, having just taken a big bite of his sandwich. He waited until he’d used a swig of coffee to swallow it down before replying. “I played all the way through school; there might still be some of my gear upstairs, actually. If you’d like to take it up again, I’m sure we can find a league around here somewhere – although it might be late in the year for it now.”

“That’s okay,” D’ar was quick to say. He didn’t want to become a bother to his brother. Not only that, but lacrosse had been something he’d shared with his dad; he wasn’t sure he wanted to share it with anyone else. 

The two of them lapsed into silence and if it wasn’t entirely an easy one, it wasn’t terribly tension-filled either. The game had been all but over when D’ar started watching and ended about the same time as Athos finished his breakfast.

“All right, I think it’s time for that talk,” Athos said as he got up from his seat. “There will be writing involved, so the kitchen table will be best.”

D’ar felt like a pop quiz had just been announced in his English class. The ease he’d currently enjoyed evaporated as he took a seat at the table. With some apprehension, he watched as Athos put his dishes in the dishwasher and then dug through a couple of drawers. When his brother joined D’ar at the table, he had two pads of paper and two pens.

Athos took the seat across from D’ar and slid him one of the pads and a pen. “Porthos tells me that knowing what the rules and expectations are helped him settle into a new foster home, so I thought we’d get started with those. Even if he hadn’t suggested it, though, I would have done so anyway. I’ve always found it best when living with someone to be upfront about what you expect.”

“Porthos is the one who suggested the lock on the door, right?” D’ar asked. When Athos nodded, D’ar smiled shyly. “It did help, especially since I didn’t even have a door when I lived with Mr. and Mrs. Duras.”

“Well, I trust you’ll find many things different living with me.” Athos frowned, but D’ar had a feeling it had nothing to do with him. “And for the better too.”

“It’s already better,” D’ar assured him. “So, are you talking about rules on chores and bedtimes and stuff?”

“That’s a part of it,” Athos told him. “I’ll tell you what I expect from you and you’ll explain what you expect from me.”

“What I need from you?” D’ar couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But you’re in charge; I can’t give you rules.”

Athos nodded. “I’ll admit that in your case, they’ll be more like guidelines than rules, but by putting them in writing, if you feel I’m slacking in any way, you’ll have documentation.”

D’ar looked down. “Oh.” His brother couldn’t really expect him to give a grown-up rules, could he? 

“It won’t be that hard, you’ll see.” Athos’ voice was so kind that D’ar looked up again. His brother’s expression was solemn, but the skin around Athos’ eyes was crinkled, giving the impression that he was smiling, even though his lips weren’t quite turned up. “I think seeing what I have in mind will be more explanatory than just talking about it, so let’s get started, all right?”

“All right.”

“I’ll begin.” Athos wrote quickly and held the pad up so that D’ar could see it.

“No lying,” D’ar read aloud. He looked at his brother in confusion; he’d expected something more along the lines of how clean he needed to keep his room or what kind of grades he’d be expected to maintain.

Athos lips turned down into a grimace. “I believe Mrs. Royalton told you that I was married at one time?” He didn’t continue until D’ar nodded. “Well, my wife, now my ex-wife, lied to me about, well, about everything. It’s left me with a very sour feeling about lies.”

D’ar bit his lip. He was usually truthful, but there were always exceptions. “What if someone asks me to keep a secret? What if telling the truth will ruin something, like if your friends are planning a surprise party?”

His last comment caused Athos to actually chuckle. “Well, for one thing, my friends know better than to try anything like a surprise party. Heads would roll.” He didn’t laugh much, though, and almost immediately grew serious again. “If someone asks you to keep a secret that could get you or someone else hurt, then they’re asking you to do a bad thing, yes?”

Seeing the logic in that, D’ar nodded. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Then that person is hardly your friend,” Athos was firm, but remained friendly. “I can promise you this – you will always be in less trouble with me if you say you can’t answer something I ask than you will be if you lie about something.” He held up one hand. “That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t get in trouble at all, just that not answering is preferable to lying. Fair enough?”

D’ar nodded again, but hardly with confidence. “I guess.”

“All right, then it’s your turn.” Athos said, gesturing at the paper. “Do you have any expectations for me that you’d like to state?”

Shrugging, D’ar just kept his eyes on the paper and didn’t answer.

After a few moments of silence, Athos spoke again. “You know, you’ve already given me an expectation. You did it last night.” Startled, D’ar looked up and Athos nodded at him. “You told me you wanted to be called D’ar instead of Charles.”

“That counts?” D’ar asked, surprised.

“That counts.” Athos tapped his finger on D’ar’s pad. “It’s definitely worthy of writing down.”

D’ar carefully wrote ‘D’ar, not Charles’ on his pad and looked at his brother expectantly.

Athos nodded. “And that gives me an idea for my second rule.” He wrote quickly before showing it to D’ar. ‘Athos, not Olivier or Ollie.’ 

Ollie was underlined, which made D’ar smile. He didn’t know his brother very well yet, but he would never imagine calling him Ollie.

Ever since Athos had written down his first rule, D’ar had been doing some thinking and decided that he did, after all, have something very important that he wanted from his brother. It was more of a hope than a rule, but D’ar figured it was worth a try. Without any brotherly encouragement, D’ar wrote his next item on his pad and turned it around for Athos to read.

“No drugs,” Athos read aloud. His face looked sad as he responded. “I assure you that recreational drugs have never been an issue with me. Still, it’s a very good rule to have.” His face turned a little red and D’ar wondered if his brother was blushing. “You might, however, want to add something about drunkenness.”

D’ar thought about a couple of foster homes he’d had and decided that was a good idea. He added that to his list and when he was done, he saw that Athos was also adding something his. When Athos turned his pad for D’ar to see, D’ar saw that his brother had again written an expectation similar to his own.

“No drugs, alcohol or smoking,” D’ar read out loud.

“I doubt, after what you’ve been through, that drugs will be an issue for you, but I want to make it clear that they won’t be tolerated.” Athos explained. “Neither will smoking – did you need to add that to your list of expectations?”

D’ar shook his head. “Don’t need to, you don’t smoke. I’d smell it if you did.”

His answer made his brother look impressed. “You’re an observant boy.”

The praise made D’ar blush, but he did his best not to duck his head again. He wasn’t used to getting to compliments, but it was something he would gladly become accustomed to.

Their rule writing was interrupted by Athos’ phone chirruping. With a quick apology to D’ar, Athos dug it out of his pocket so he could look at the screen. When he was done reading the text, Athos looked ruefully at D’ar. “It seems my friends are already protective of you. They want to make sure I’m not still abed and that you’re not pining away by yourself up here waiting for me to wake up.”

It was a strange feeling, to be protected. Mrs. Duras had watched D’ar all the time but her reason had been that she was trying to catch him doing something wrong. Mr. Duras had watched D’ar too, but that had been downright creepy. D’ar couldn’t help but wonder at people who would care what happened to a kid they barely knew, just because the kid was their friend’s younger brother. 

“Let’s table the rule writing for now,” Athos suggested. “It was never my intention to set to get it all determined in one day in any case. At least now you have an idea of what I’d like you to think about.”

“Okay,” D’ar was happy to comply. It hadn’t been as bad as he’d thought at first, but it still felt weird to be telling an adult how he expected him to behave. 

Athos stood and D’ar did the same. “Would you like to finish the tour before we join the others?”

Surprised, D’ar looked around the room. He thought he’d seen everything last night. “Finish the tour?”

“You’ve seen the apartment,” Athos explained as he walked towards the door. “But we own the whole building and you haven’t seen all of it yet.”

“We?” D’ar asked. Mrs. Royalton had mentioned something about that the night before, but the way Athos worded it was odd. 

“Our family,” Athos explained, and then clarified in a very firm tone of voice. “Of which you are now part.”

“Oh.” It had been too long since D'ar could consider himself as part of a family.

“Let’s start with the third floor,” Athos headed for the door, but stopped before he went through it. “I had the security engaged overnight, so the passcode is needed before the door is opened, otherwise a silent alarm goes off and the police arrive.” 

D’ar’s expression must have looked as startled as he felt, because Athos was quick to reassure. “That’s not the worst thing in the world that could happen. In fact, I’ve set it off a time or two myself. Porthos sets up the passcodes and he insists on changing them at random intervals. The man comes up with the damn- er, most difficult passcodes too.”

Athos punched some numbers into a small keypad that D’ar now noticed at the side of the door and gestured for D’ar to follow him out of the apartment. “That reminds me, I’ll need to add something about cleanliness to my expectations list.” He punched another code on a matching keypad right outside. “I’m bringing in a service to do the heavy cleaning, but I will need your help to keep the living room and kitchen relatively decent. Sometimes I bring clients up to show them security system in use.”

That explained why the apartment looked so neat. “I can do that,” D’ar assured his brother. “I’m good at cleaning stuff.”

His comment made his brother frown. “You won’t be a maid, D’ar. I’m just referring to picking up after yourself. Putting your used dishes in the dishwasher like you did this morning or not leaving dirty underwear draped over a lampshade in the living room.”

That last bit first made D’ar ogle Athos to see if he was kidding and, when it was clear his brother was serious, he giggled. “Someone really did that? With the underwear, I mean.”

Athos’ lips twitched. “I forget, you haven’t been to college yet – or shared quarters with Aramis. It’s more common than you might think.”

“I promise,” D’ar said, still grinning. “No underwear in the living room – unless it’s under my pants where it’s supposed to be.”

“Your own room, you may keep as you like, although if it ever gets to the point where hazmat suits are necessary or if the cleaning service refuses to enter, we may have to rethink that one.” Athos added. “And I will be doing my fair share as well.”

That didn’t sound bad at all and with a lighter heart, D’ar followed his brother up the stairs to the next floor.

“This space is just being used for storage right now,” Athos explained as they reached the third floor. He turned on the lights and D’ar saw what he meant. It hadn’t been set up as an apartment the way the second floor had and was mostly open area. A lot of it was full of furniture and things covered with sheets of plastic or fabric. There were marks on the dusty floor that showed that items had recently been moved around and D’ar felt a tickle in his nose just moments before he sneezed three times in a row. Apparently some of the dust was still in the air.

“Bless you,” Athos seemed to say it automatically. Like D’ar he was looking around at the piles of stuff. “If you want, you’re welcome to poke around up here and see if there’s anything you’d like for your room. Constance’s husband will be by at some point to see what he’d like for his studio.”

D’ar’s nose crinkled and he hoped that Athos would attribute it to the sneezing. While his curiosity was pricked and D’ar did want to uncover things to see what treasures were hidden, he wasn’t overly hopeful. From what he could see, most of the stuff matched the outside of the building and was a little too fussy for his taste. “Thanks.”

Athos snorted in amusement. D’ar was dismayed at his brother’s reaction; he thought he’d managed to mask his distaste.

“I’m sorry, but the look on your face,” Athos apologized. “Don’t worry, I won’t be offended if you don’t want any of these pieces. After all, there’s a reason I didn’t take any of it for the apartment. It’s valuable, at least most of it is, but not exactly my style.”

“It is a little . . . fancy,” D’ar admitted, smiling shyly back. Athos had laughed at his reaction the way D’ar had reacted to Athos’ the night before, to the milk. “I’d be afraid that I would break it.”

Athos put a hand on D’ar’s shoulder and turned him away from the storage room. “That doesn’t worry me, but trust me, you won’t be forced to put any of these items in your room if you don’t want to – I just wanted you to know that you were free to do so if anything appealed.”

“Thanks,” D’ar appreciated the offer, but appreciated even more that Athos wouldn’t hold it against him if D’ar didn’t take him up on it.

Athos headed back towards the staircase and they went up to the next floor. Rather, D’ar assumed they were going to another floor, but instead when Athos opened the door at the top of the staircase, bright sunshine came through. There wasn’t a fourth floor; they had gone straight to the roof.

“Wow,” D’ar walked onto the roof, not needing any more encouragement than a hand gesture from Athos. “This is great!”

And it was. Not everything in New York was skyscrapers and the surrounding buildings were about the same height as the one the apartment was in. As a result, there was a lot of sunshine and other than some small metal structures that looked like they housed equipment, it was mostly open space. D’ar could be outside without having to worry about chores like raking leaves or mowing the lawn.

“We don’t use this as much as we probably should,” Athos admitted. He was smiling as he looked at D’ar, clearly pleased with his younger brother’s reaction. “The roof was repaired last summer, so it’s in prime condition.”

“Could we sit out here sometimes?” D’ar asked, shivering a little in the cool spring air. They hadn’t brought coats for the tour. “When it gets warmer.”

“Of course,” Athos not only didn’t frown at D’ar asking for something, he actually seemed pleased by it. “I was told that it was rated to hold several thousand pounds. We shouldn’t plan on having any large parties out here, but some chairs and perhaps a shade product would be doable.”

D’ar bit his lip, but decided to try another suggestion. “How about one of those metal fire pits? We could roast marshmallows or something.”

Athos was quiet as he thought about it, which made D’ar’s stomach do a couple of flips, but ultimately he nodded. “We might need to put down a protective surface, but that shouldn’t be a problem.” He gave D’ar another one of those almost-smiles of his. “In fact, it sounds nice.”

“Great.” D’ar returned the smile and the two brothers stood looking at each other awkwardly until a chirrup sounded.

After retrieving his phone from a back pocket, Athos gave a sigh as he read the screen. “We have one more floor to see and we’d best finish it quickly or the others will come looking.”

D’ar shrugged. “Okay.”

Athos took him back down to the second floor, where they retrieved their coats, since the short visit to the roof had shown that they’d need them for the proposed shopping trip. After that, they went down the stairs again, not one level as D’ar had expected, but two.

“This is the basement,” Athos explained and he punched in a longer code in a yet another key pad.

When Athos was done, he looked at D’ar with an expression that was the closest to stern that D’ar had yet see from him. “You are never to be in this room without one of us with you.” He grimaced. “I suppose I’ll need to put that rule on the list too.”

D’ar hadn’t known Athos for even a day yet, but he knew that the ‘one of us’ referred to his brother’s three friends that he’d met the night before. “Okay.”

Athos opened the door and gestured for D’ar to enter before him. When he got inside, D’ar’s nose wrinkled. It smelled like a locker room. Given that the space contained various types of exercise equipment and an open mat area, that wasn’t too surprising. For the life of him, though, D’ar couldn’t figure out what was so special about this room that he couldn’t be in it by himself. Did Athos really think he was such a baby that he’d hurt himself on a treadmill?

The thought prompted an unexpected twinge of grief at the idea that his brother might think so little of him. Before it could register too deeply, however, D’ar next took in the sight of a large, rounded metal door at the back of the room. Big in size and looking like it would be thick to match, it had a complex handle and yet another key pad.

“What’s that?” D’ar asked, pointing to it.

“This building used to be a bank and that is the vault,” Athos told him. “It’s where we keep the more. . . exotic . . . weapons and equipment.”

“More than guns?” D’ar asked. He really didn’t like the idea of there being knives in there. A kitchen knife was different, but a weapon knife? Just the thought made his gut twist. “I thought you weren’t in the Army anymore?”

Athos’ hand was warm on D’ar’s shoulder. “I guess it’s a holdover from our Special Forces days. We rarely even use the guns, but it does make all three of us feel safer to have a better selection of armament. Besides, it’s not all weapons.”

D’ar relaxed at that. “It’s not?”'

His brother strode forward and D’ar trailed behind. “No. Most of our work is investigative or setting up security systems, but we do still take on the occasional protective services job. Bodyguard situations and the like.”

“Wow,” D’ar was impressed. “Anybody I would have heard of?”

Athos shrugged as he entered a code into the keypad. “You’ll have to ask one of the others. Aramis complains that I’m woefully ignorant on popular culture.”

D’ar was going to say something, but his brother opened the door to the vault and his attention was taken by its gleaning interior. After looking at Athos for permission, and receiving a nod in return, D’ar gingerly stepped inside.

Not too surprising, given the pristine state of Athos’ apartment, the space was neat as a pin. Even someone as inexperienced as D’ar could see that the vault was organized in sections and by the type of item. Well, where items were out where they could be seen. There were also lots of metal boxes with locks on them. To D’ar’s surprise, the sweat smell, which had gotten fainter as they’d moved away from the exercise equipment, had a stronger presence in the vault. His nose wrinkled again in reaction.

“It’s the vests,” Athos’ voice came from behind him and D’ar turned to see his older brother leaning against the door frame. “What they’re made of gets damaged by sunlight and so there’s no airing them out.”

D’ar looked at the shelves where the protective vests lay, familiar only from television and the movies. They were bulky and, yes, stinky. “You can’t exactly throw them in the washing machine, can you?”

His comment made Athos’ lips twitch. “No, not exactly.” Athos stepped fully into the vault and the space inside was big enough that it easily accommodated them both, with ample room to spare. 

“The individual gun safes are also locked and, as you can see, they’re mobile in case we need to take them on location. But weapons are actually the least of what’s in here. We have advanced surveillance equipment, climbing gear, the vests. . . ” Athos trailed off as he looked around. Finally, he sighed. “Constance may be right when she refers to the vault as ‘The Toy Box.’”

Everything seemed very military to D’ar. “This stuff doesn’t look like toys to me.”

Athos shrugged. “The bigger the boy, the bigger the toy.” His lips twitched. “At least that’s what Constance has told me and she claims to be an expert.” 

That didn’t make a whole lot of sense to D’ar, but he wasn’t willing to argue the subject, so he let it slide. The vault and its contents were a little bit intimidating, so at first he just stood in the middle and looked at everything. When he didn’t see any knives, D’ar relaxed a little, beginning to get eager to examine some of the items closer up. Before he could actually make a move, though, an already familiar noise indicated that his brother had an incoming message.

“The others are about to mutiny,” Athos said with a sigh, after he read the text. “Come on, we better get upstairs or they’ll come looking for us.”

D’ar reluctantly followed Athos out of the vault. Not only would he have liked to spend more time exploring its contents, but he’d been dreading the shopping outing. Despite his words to D’ar, Athos seemed hesitant too. At least, it seemed to D’ar that his brother was taking his time locking the vault back up.

When he was done, Athos didn’t immediately make a move towards the stairs. “Before we join the others, there are a few things I want to warn you about.”

D’ar immediately stiffened. Those types of words usually didn’t mean good things for him. “Okay.”

His worry must have shown in D’ar’s voice, because Athos immediately put a hand on D’ar’s shoulder again. “Don’t be concerned, it’s not that bad.”

“Okay.” D’ar tried to smile, but was pretty sure he’d failed. To his relief, his brother didn’t keep him waiting, but squeezed D’ar’s should before letting his hand drop and then launched right into an explanation.

“The first warning is about Constance. Her husband designs clothing and Constance seems to think that means she has superior fashion sense than the three of us ruffians she works with.” Athos ran a hand through his unruly curls. “Which isn’t to say that she has bad taste, just that she might try to convince you that she knows what’s best for you.”

Looking down at himself, D’ar blushed when he was reminded that his pants were two inches too short, his belt was meant for a smaller child and that his shirt was badly faded. “It’s got to better than what I have.”

“What you have is not your choice,” Athos’ lips had thinned, but D’ar was pretty sure that his brother wasn’t mad at him. “You will have the opportunity to choose today and I want to make sure what you pick is to please yourself and not Constance.”

D’ar remembered the night before and knew that what his brother was telling him was easier said than done. “How? She seems kind of . . . . determined.”

Athos started walking towards the door and D’ar followed him. “Just leave that to me. If she’s trying to talk you into picking something you wouldn’t be comfortable wearing, just ask for my opinion. I’ll run interference.” He came to an abrupt stop at the exit. “The second warning is about Aramis – when I’m otherwise occupied, he’ll do his best to talk you into getting a hat. Perhaps not today, but soon.”

D’ar frowned, remembering the hat that Aramis had worn the night before. “You don’t like hats?”

Athos rubbed the side of his nose, but something told D’ar that it wasn’t because of an itch. “Well, let’s just say that Aramis thinks that I am somewhat less than fond of hats and so he’ll try to get you to let him buy one for you, just to tweak me.”

It took a moment to untangle that convoluted sentence and to reconcile it with the expression on Athos’ face. When he did, D’ar smiled. “You don’t mind his hat at all, do you?”

Although he didn’t exactly smile, D’ar was close enough to see that his brother’s eyes were twinkling. Athos held the door open and D’ar went through. “No, I don’t, but I pretend that I do to give Aramis something to tease me about.”

Thinking hard as Athos locked up, D’ar asked, “So it’s kind of a game?”

“Something like that,” Athos threw an arm around D’ar’s shoulders and, together, they started up the stairs. “You see, Aramis loves to tease, but he would never joke about anything that was truly painful to me.”

It was Athos’ voice, as much as what he knew about his brother so far, that helped D’ar understand. “So you let him tease you about hats because it makes him happy to tease people and it’s a safe subject?”

“Exactly.” D’ar’s understanding was rewarded with a true smile from Athos. “So if he wants to bring you into the game by buying you some outlandish hat, know that you can accept it without fearing any reprisal from me.”

“Okay.”

D’ar stopped himself just in time from shrugging. He didn’t want Athos to think that his arm around his shoulders was unwelcome, because D’ar kind of liked having it there. Still, as they reached the entrance to the office, Athos let it drop anyway so that they both could get through the door.

The office was a combination of bright light from the windows in the front and the dark wood of the furniture. There were people sitting at desks and they all popped their heads up as D’ar and his brother entered. D’ar’s stomach clenched a little at the thought of greeting all three of them and he reminded himself of how happy they’d been the night before to meet him.

“Finally,” Aramis exclaimed as he leaned back in his chair. D’ar couldn’t help but notice a hat sitting on the man’s desk. “We thought you got lost during the building tour or something.”

“Have you eaten?” Constance got up from her desk and came around towards them. “Athos, you did remember to feed him breakfast, didn’t you?”

Remembering her vigorous hug from the night before, D’ar sidled closer to his brother as she approached. Athos put a hand to the small of D’ar’s back, steadying him. The support gave D’ar the confidence to answer the question, even though the last part of it had been directed towards Athos.

“Yes, ma’am,” D’ar answered. “I had plenty of breakfast.”

His answer stopped the pretty woman in her tracks. “Ma’am? Please, call me Constance.”

“Yes, ma’-,” D’ar started, then realizing that he was not doing as she asked, blushed. “I mean, okay.”

“Well, then, if we’re all fueled up, we’ve got some shopping to do,” Aramis crowed as he brought his chair back to an upright position. D’ar hadn’t seen a grown man so excited about shopping before.

“Hold on there a minute,” the big man, Porthos, said. He stood up and came towards D’ar with an object in his hands. “Took the liberty of setting this up; your brother mentioned getting you a phone like the rest of us.”

Any intimidation D’ar might have felt as the large man approached was mitigated by realization that Porthos was handing him a phone – after indicating it was for D’ar. He turned it over in his hands, realizing that it was not only a cell phone, it was a smart phone.

“Wow,” D’ar barely dared to breathe. “This is for me?” His eyes had darted automatically to Athos, despite it being Porthos who’d handed him the phone.

“It is,” Athos nodded. “As I mentioned last night, you’ll need one so we can coordinate school pick up times and the like.” His lips pursed. “There will be limits, however, and we’ll have to discuss those later. For now, you’re not to text anyone other than the four of us, Mrs. Royalton or Judge Freddy.”

D’ar touched the phone’s screen, a little startled when it lit up. When Athos had said he was getting a cell phone, he’d expected a hand-me-down like a flip phone or something equally as cheap. “Isn’t this kind of expensive?”

“I appreciate the consideration, but that’s not for you to worry about,” Athos replied in a firm voice. He then turned slightly so that his friends couldn’t see his face and winked at D’ar. “This might be an appropriate time for that warning I wanted to give you before we go on this shopping trip.”

D’ar understood the wink. Athos was pretending that this was the only warning he would be getting, so the other warnings were to be kept between the two of them. D’ar kind of liked having a secret to share with his brother. He nodded slightly, pleased when Athos’ lips twitched in a smile. The reaction mitigated D’ar’s nerves about what the next warning might be.

“I am going to spend money on you today.” What Athos said wasn’t anything like D’ar anticipated. His mouth fell open a little, but that didn’t stop his brother from continuing. “Quite a lot of it, actually and I don’t want you to worry about any of it.”

With effort, D’ar shut his gaping mouth. He wasn’t sure what to say. Getting new stuff would be great, but he didn’t want to be such a bother or cost so much that Athos regretted the decision to take him in. D’ar wasn’t sure what to make of his new living arrangement just yet, but even after only spending a couple of waking hours in his brother’s company, he was sure of one thing – he didn’t want it to end just yet. Not so soon and, quite possibly, ever.

“Don’t worry,” Porthos came to D’ar’s rescue. “He could buy you a new phone every day for a year and it wouldn’t bankrupt your brother none. Besides, he’ll be getting a stipend from the state for your care.”

“A stipend that’s not necessary.” For some reason, Athos was scowling. After glancing at Porthos’ expression, however, he smoothed his face before talking to D’ar again. “You have to have noticed that your things are in bad shape and that you don’t have very much compared to other children at school. Am I correct?”

“Yeah,” D’ar didn’t bother to deny it. How could he when the other kids tormented him for how shabby he looked?

“And that’s not your fault,” Athos was quick to reassure. “All of your foster homes have been provided funds for your care, but it’s clear that Mr. and Mrs. Duras, and maybe some of the fosters before them, hadn’t used the money for its intended purpose.”

“But it’s not fair that you have to make up all the difference,” D’ar protested.

“I wish you had been cared for properly and it bothers me a great deal that I wasn’t there when you needed me,” Athos held up a hand when his friends started to protest. “I know that I wasn’t aware of D’ar and that it wasn’t my fault, but still. . . .” He smiled at D’ar, but D’ar could see that his brother was still sad. “It will make me feel much better if you let me make up for it now. Will you do that, will you help me that way?”

There was only one thing D’ar could say to that. “Sure.”

“Okay, let me show you all the bells and whistles,” Porthos pointed at the phone.

D’ar sighed when he felt the tension in the room relax. He could have sworn he heard Aramis say something about only kids supposed to have something called ‘puppy dog eyes,’ but he wasn’t sure. In any case, he was soon mesmerized by what Porthos was showing him.

“Here’s your number, see?” Porthos showed D’ar how to navigate to the phone functions. “And I’ve taken the liberty to loading our numbers too.”

“Hey, it has your pictures,” D’ar exclaimed. Indeed, the saved contacts for Aramis, Porthos and Constance all were accompanied by a picture of the person in question. For Athos, however, there was something different. “Why is there a hedgehog instead of Athos’ picture?”

His question caused Athos to turn the phone in D’ar’s hand so he could see for himself. D’ar’s older brother scowled at his friends, but since they all chuckled, D’ar figured it was nothing serious.

“Very funny,” Athos muttered.

“You want a better picture of him?” Porthos asked. When D’ar shyly nodded yes, Porthos showed him how to use the camera function.

“Athos?” D’ar asked as he turned towards his brother. He belatedly realized that he didn’t know if Athos liked having his picture taken or not. “Do you mind?”

“No, not at all.”

Athos smiled as D’ar lifted the phone and soon D’ar had taken his very first picture. From the amused expressions on the others’ faces, he had a feeling that Athos’ cooperation was somewhat unusual. Soon Porthos had shown him how to replace the hedgehog’s image with the one he’d just taken.

“We’ll do the same thing with you as soon as we get you something that fits better,” Athos told him. D’ar sighed with relief. He didn’t exactly want a picture taken while he looked so shabby, not when the others looked so nice.

“Enough with the phones,” Constance brought the group back on track. “If we wait until you boys get finished playing with your toys, D’ar will never get some new clothing and, I’m sorry, sweetie, but Athos is right. You need it.” 

“The lady has spoken,” Athos gestured towards the back door. “And, as usual, she’s right.”

Aramis flipped a closed sign by the front door before locking it and, as one, the group headed for the back. From what D’ar could tell, the adults must have already decided on driving arrangements, because there was zero discussion about how to proceed. All five of them piled into the largest SUV parked in the area behind the building, with Porthos behind the wheel and Aramis next to him. As the youngest, D’ar expected to be put in the middle, but to his surprise, Athos took that spot. With the three of them in the back, D’ar was just relieved it was his brother next to him. It was crowded and it would have been uncomfortable to be pressed up closely to Constance.

Of course, the fact that there was a large man in between them didn’t stop the pretty woman from trying to engage D’ar in conversation.

“Did you sleep well?” She leaned forward to ask him.

“The bed was very comfortable, thanks,” D’ar answered, leaving out the part about having nightmares. He glanced up at Athos, hoping that was okay. From the way he got a small nod back, he figured it was.

His bland response didn’t dissuade her. “What sort of clothing do you prefer? Do you have a favorite brand or color?”

D’ar shrugged. “Just jeans and stuff.”

Anything without holes in it would be fine with D’ar and he would count it a plus if the sleeves of his shirts and the legs of his pants didn’t end inches too short.

“When you’re in the military, you learn to sleep anywhere, anytime.” Aramis said, apparently in connection to Constance asking how D’ar had slept. “On one notable occasion, D’ar, we were deployed to. . . . well, that’s classified. But let’s just say it was a tropical location and we found Athos asleep in a tree.”

“A tree?” D’ar shot a glance at his brother, whom to D’ar had seemed the epitome of a gentleman. He found the idea of Athos sleeping anywhere as unlikely as a tree to be a bit unbelievable – and he already knew that Aramis liked to tease. “Are you sure?”

Porthos joined the conversation. “He was in a tree all right, just like Tarzan.”

“It was the jungle,” Athos drawled, not the least bit uncomfortable about the conversation. “It was safer in the branches than it was on the ground.”

“Yeah, right,” Porthos snorted. “If you don’t count snakes and leopards and the like.”

“I was referring more to the human type of predator.”

Aramis interrupted the discussion. “The reason why is beside the point, gentleman.” He turned around enough so that he could grin back at D’ar. “What I was getting at was that our esteemed leader was stretched out on his belly on a big branch that was about ten feet above the ground, with his arms and legs dangling, snoring loud enough to wake the dead.”

D’ar glanced up at his brother and when Athos didn’t seem irritated at the conversation, grinned. “That doesn’t sound very comfortable.”

“You’d be surprised how your definition of comfort changes after you’ve been on patrol for 48 hours straight,” Athos replied.

Porthos, Aramis and Athos regaled D’ar with stories about their time in Special Forces, although even as young as he was, D’ar was pretty sure that they were editing events. He sat back and took it all in, looking forward to the day when he was grown and could hear the stories with all the most interesting bits included.

With his brother and friends exchanging stories, the drive felt a lot shorter than it actually was. Before D’ar knew it, they were parking near a department store with a familiar name. D’ar felt the beginnings of excitement. It was a discount department store, but was still far better than a thrift shop, where all his clothes had come from since entering the foster care system. Shopping used to be torture, but the prospect of getting clothes that weren’t worn thin and too small was sounding better and better. 

The five of them trooped into the store and they were in luck, the door they used was right by the kids’ department. It seemed, however, that was where the adults’ planning ran out, because they all stood looking around; one of them with an expression of horror.

“Dear God,” Athos murmured. “People actually shop here?”

“Not everyone can afford fancy duds,” Porthos answered. “Bet you had custom-made clothes, even as a kid.”

“I did not,” Athos retorted. “At least not for school and other leisure activities. Surely we can do better than this.”

“D’ar goes to a public school, not a fancy private one,” Porthos said. Athos started to protest, but his friend talked right over him. “At least he don’t go to a fancy private school yet. When I was a foster kid, all I ever wanted was to fit in with the other kids and that includes looking like ‘em.”

Athos stared at Porthos for a few more moments and then looked at D’ar. D’ar was very glad that his brother’s expression had softened somewhat by that time. “Are you comfortable shopping here?”

“This is fine,” D’ar was eager to reassure Athos. He wasn’t exactly sure why Athos was objecting; from what D’ar could tell, the clothes looked just like what other kids wore. “Really, it is.”

“Very well,” Athos glanced around the store. “Where do we start?”

“Hi there,” a bright, feminine voice interrupted. “I understand that you have a young man to outfit?”

It was only as the sales woman approached that D’ar realized that Aramis had wandered off during the previous discussion. Before his dad died, D’ar had shopped in similar stores and he remembered his dad grumbling about how the trouble with the big box clothing stores was that there was never anyone around to help. Either the store wasn’t particularly busy or Aramis was good at tracking down a sales person.

“Yes, thank you.” Oddly enough, when Athos thanked the woman, he was looking at Aramis instead. “We have no idea of what we’re doing.”

With the assistance of the sales woman, they were directed to the right section and the real work could begin. D’ar soon found himself in the center of a small hurricane. Clothes were being chosen with startling speed and he was soon ensconced in the fitting room, with various choices being presented to him.

Unfortunately, it soon became clear that there was a problem.

“The length is okay,” Aramis’ voice was full of doubts.

D’ar knew why his brother’s friend was hesitating. They’d found the right length easily enough, but being so skinny was proving to be tricky.

“They’re too big everywhere else,” Athos added. D’ar plucked at the waist of the jeans he had on. It was the smallest pair they were able to find in the length he needed, but he could still pull them out a couple of inches.

Porthos, as D’ar had already figured out, was blunter. “You mean the poor kid’s swimming in them.”

Constance crossed her arms over her chest and smiled at them sweetly. “It really is too bad, Athos, that you don’t know anyone who’s married to someone in the clothing industry. Someone who might be able to tailor the jeans so that they actually fit – or who might know how to order more sizes online.”

Athos rubbed his forehead. “It’s not that I didn’t remember your husband, Constance, it’s just that given the assistance he’ll be providing in the future, I didn’t want to ask too much of him.”

Much to D’ar’s surprise, Constance poked a finger into Athos’ stomach hard enough for him to glare at her. “When are you going to get it through that thick head of yours that family means we help each other out – not just that you help us out - and while there may be a thing as asking too much, you’re not even close to being there yet.”

Athos gaped at her, causing Aramis to grin.

“I believe, my friend, that the proper response is ‘Yes, Constance.’” Aramis suggested.

After a moment of hesitation, and a short glared directed at Aramis, Athos answered. “Yes, Constance.”

Constance patted him on the shoulder. “Good, hedgehog.”

After that, things progressed quickly. Shirts were more forgiving than pants and anything that D’ar seemed to remotely like was put in the “buy pile.” There was a brief bit of trouble when Constance tried to talk D’ar into getting a shirt in a color that he called pink and she “strawberry lemonade,” but Athos came to D’ar’s rescue and it was placed in the discard pile. 

They didn’t just get clothes for school. Athos insisted D’ar get a pair of dress pants and a dress shirt, plus sweats and shorts. Pajamas weren’t forgotten either, which D’ar appreciated. Soon they had a shopping cart full of stuff. Granted, it was a small cart compared to the ones in grocery stores, but still. . . . D’ar was uneasy.

“Okay, what else do you need?” Constance asked. She eyed the cart with far more open satisfaction than D’ar felt, but then suddenly snapped her fingers. “Oooh, socks and underwear!”

D’ar felt his ears turn red. He hardly knew the woman – the thought of discussing his underwear with her was embarrassing.

“Constance, my dear, let’s go look at the towels over there,” Aramis took Constance by the elbow. “I’m feeling the need to spruce up my bathroom.”

“But. . . . ” Constance protested.

To D’ar’s immense relief, however, Aramis didn’t let go of her and coaxed her away. Given the man’s tendency to tease, D’ar had been a little wary of him, but intervening in the embarrassing underwear situation meant that he was currently D’ar’s favorite amongst Athos’ friends.

He jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Please forgive her,” Athos’ gaze was warm when he looked down at D’ar. “She’s around us so much that sometimes she forgets that she’s not one of the boys. I’m sure she didn’t realize she’d embarrassed you.”

“That one never forgets she’s a lady,” Porthos disagreed with part of what Athos said, “but I think she just forgot that you don’t know her as well as we do. Before you know it, you’ll be talking all sorts of things over with her, just like a sister.”

D’ar wasn’t sure he agreed; he didn’t think he’d ever be comfortable discussing his underwear with such a pretty woman. It was a lot easier to have the help of other guys, even if they were adults. Luckily there weren’t as many choices for sox and underwear as there were other clothing, so before long, D’ar was adding them to the cart. If either Athos or Porthos thought it was funny when D’ar buried the items under the other clothing, they were kind enough not to say anything.

“What else?” Athos murmured. The saleswoman had long since left them to their own devices. “Shoes, I suppose.”

“I don’t need any,” D’ar said firmly. “Mrs. Royalton bought me some already. See?”

He stuck out his foot so that the others could see that he did, in fact, have decent shoes. Until he outgrew them, D’ar had no intention of replacing something Mrs. Royalton had purchased for him.

“Those are very nice,” Athos agreed. “Obviously, you won’t need athletic shoes, but you may want something a bit dressier, for the next time you visit Judge Freddy.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” D’ar sighed. Dress shoes weren’t his favorite. “I suppose.”

Porthos laughed. “Contain your enthusiasm, little brother.”

D’ar’s eyes widened and he turned to Athos. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful, Athos. Honest. If you want me to have dress shoes, that’s fine. More than fine.”

Athos put a hand on his shoulder and, behind his brother, D’ar could see that Porthos looked dismayed. “It’s all right, D’ar, I know that you’re far from ungrateful. Porthos was just sympathizing with you, because, really, dress shoes aren’t exactly the most exciting items in the world, are they?”

The calm words and ready support went a long way towards easing D’ar’s dismay. So did the concern on Porthos’ face; it was easy to see that the big man hadn’t meant to make D’ar feel bad. Slowly, D’ar realized that he’d overreacted and tried to think of a way to let the two men know that he felt better. Given their conversations earlier, he decided that trying to make a joke might be the way to go.

“Dress shoes are way more exciting than underwear, that’s for sure.” He said shyly. He looked at his brother and his friend through lowered lashes, not sure of their reaction.

He needn’t have worried, both of the adults smiled at him. Well, Porthos grinned and Athos expression lightened, which based on what D’ar had seen so far, was his brother’s equivalent.

“Truer words were never said,” Athos clapped D’ar on the back and the two started walking towards the shoe department. Porthos followed, pushing the cart.

“Don’t we need to tell Aramis and Constance where we went?” D’ar asked. As a kid, he was used to the adults he was shopping with demanding to know his whereabouts at all times.

Porthos snorted. “Store’s not that big, they’ll find us.”

“And if not, they can always text,” Athos explained.

Shoe shopping, as it turned out, wasn’t half bad. Athos was more concerned with comfort than he was price, which was a relief. If nothing else, D’ar was pretty sure that living with his brother would mean no more shoes that pinched. It didn’t take long to find a pair that both fit and looked good.

“Well, that was easy enough.” Athos echoed D’ar’s relief. “Shall we go track down our errant companions?”

Despite Athos’ earlier assurances, it took a few minutes to find Aramis and Constance. Their trio passed the bedding department as they looked and Athos slowed his walk.

“Are you missing anything in your bedroom?” He asked.

D’ar shrugged. He had a bed and blankets, what more did he need? “I can’t think of anything.”

“Is your comforter to your liking? Do you need any more pillows?” Athos pressed.

“No, it’s good.” D’ar repeated. 

“How about a rug?” Porthos suggested. “Them wood floors might get a little cold on bare feet.”

As soon as the suggestion was made, Athos would hear of nothing other than going to the rug area. Once there, however, he didn’t seem very happy with the selection. Nothing, it seemed, was close to the size Athos wanted. D’ar stayed out of it, not understanding why you’d want to have wooden floors if you were just going to cover them up anyway.

The three of them were still there when Aramis and Constance found them.

“Moved on from clothing, I see,” Aramis said as the two approached. “Unmentionables safely purchased?”

“Yeah,” Porthos answered for D’ar, which he appreciated. He knew exactly what Aramis meant by unmentionables, but didn’t want to mention them at all. “Got some shoes too.”

“Dress shoes,” D’ar was quick to correct. He didn’t want the others to think he didn’t appreciate Mrs. Royalton’s earlier purchase.

“Porthos pointed out a lack in D’ar’s room – he’ll need a rug.” Athos told them. “But we need to find somewhere with a better selection than this.”

Aramis wrinkled his nose as he looked at the rugs the store had to offer. “Agreed. Shall we pay for these and then break for lunch? Shopping is hungry work.”

“You mean flirting with the sales staff is hungry work,” Constance corrected him.

“Flirting is all part of the art of negotiation,” Aramis winked at D’ar. “I’ll teach you all about it when you get a little older.”

“Over my dead body,” Athos didn’t sound as serious as his words implied and D’ar had the feeling that his brother was teasing the other man. “But you’re right, I’m hungry. What about you, D’ar?”

D’ar hadn’t realized it, but his stomach was growling. “Yeah, I could eat.”

“Me too,” Porthos added enthusiastically. “Let’s go.”

The group, whole again, headed towards the door they’d used to come in. There was a whole bank of cash registers located there. As they walked, however, they passed the luggage section and D’ar saw some backpacks. He stopped, but was hesitant to say anything. He needed one and, from the way Athos had acted so far, didn’t doubt his brother would buy him one. Still, Athos was already getting so much stuff for him. . . . 

“D’ar?” Athos, noticing that D’ar had stopped, came back for him. “Is there something else?”

Biting his lip, D’ar thought for a moment more, but decided that, as little as he wanted to ask Athos for something, his brother might be annoyed if he put it off and they had to make a second trip. “I need a backpack – for school.”

Rather than being upset, Athos actually looked happy that D’ar had asked for something. He motioned the others and they all trooped into the area where the bags were. With the bulging cart, it was almost a parade and D’ar was tempted to laugh. Would it always be this way when they were shopping?

The group descended on the backpacks and D’ar stood back and let the adults root through them.

“Look, this one’s got a pocket that’ll hold a water bottle.”

“I like the reinforced bottom on this one, that’ll hold up better for school books.”

D’ar watched in something nearing disbelief. Eventually, Athos looked over and realized that his little brother wasn’t participating. Athos looked back at his friends and the absurdity of the situation seemed to hit him.

“The check-out area is just over there,” Athos interrupted the lively school bag discussion. “Why don’t you get in line; D’ar and I will be along in a moment.”

His suggestion wasn’t really a suggestion; it was more of an order. Instead of protesting, however, Athos’ comment caused the others to look at each other sheepishly. With no complaints, the other three took the cart to the check-out line.

“My apologies if we seem to get carried away,” Athos said once they were gone. “We’re just very excited you’re with us – and we want the best for you, especially since you were clearly neglected for too long.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” D’ar said softly, looking away.

“And it’s not yours either.” There was silence for a moment and then his older brother sighed.

“Let’s make an agreement, you and I,” Athos proposed. D’ar looked up at him, startled. “I’ll try to stop blaming myself for not being there after your father died if you’ll try to start believing that it’s acceptable for you to receive care.”

D’ar bit his lip. “Okay?”

Athos didn’t, quite, smile at him, but his lips turned up faintly. “It’s going to get easier, you’ll see.” He spared D’ar from answering by changing the subject. “Now, which of these backpacks appeals to you?”

“Any of them would be better than my old one,” D’ar was all for changing the subject. “It was plastic and had Transformers on it.”

Athos frowned. “Do I want to know what these Transformers are?”

Thinking of how stupid the movie had been and how smart Athos clearly was, that was an easy answer to make. “No, probably not.”

“Well, is there one here that’s of sufficient quality to appease me, but is cheap enough not to cause you to worry overmuch about my spending?” Athos said.

D’ar shot a concerned look at Athos, but could tell from the small way his brother’s lips twitched that he was being teased.

“I like this one,” D’ar pointed out one of the bags that happened to be on clearance. 

“Something I learned in the Army is to never scrimp on your tools,” Athos said after spotting the reduced price sticker. “I realize that your life isn’t dependent on this bag, but it is something that you’ll be using every day. Don’t let the price tag be your only deciding factor.”

“It’s not,” D’ar assured him. “It’s sturdy and big enough to hold my stuff, but not too big, you know? And it’s blue. I like blue.”

Once D’ar had demonstrated his reason for choosing as he did, Athos grabbed the bag off its hook and handed it to D’ar. “Very well, we’ll take this one.”

They caught up with the others, who were in the middle of getting the cart emptied and the purchases rung up. D’ar’s eyes got bigger and bigger as he saw the total grow, but Athos didn’t flinch. 

“Excuse me, would it be possible for my brother to change into a couple of the new items?” Athos asked the man who’d rung them up after he signed the credit slip. “We’ve got some more errands to run and I’d rather he do it in one of your dressing rooms than in a public restroom.”

“Of course,” the man smiled at D’ar. “Pick out the items you want and we’ll cut the tags off. Keep the receipt and that way our security team will know it’s paid for.”

“Go ahead,” Athos told D’ar. “Pick out whatever you want.”

Too embarrassed with everyone looking at him, D’ar simply grabbed the first shirt and jeans in the pile. He waited until the store employee helpfully snipped the tags off and then headed back to the dressing rooms. Aramis stopped him before he could get too far.

“You’ll probably need this too,” Aramis had found one of the belts they bought. “At least until Bonnie can alter things for you.”

“Thanks,” D’ar took it from him. 

He was glad that no one followed him back to the kids’ area. It wasn’t that far and he wasn’t a little kid that needed constant supervision. He made quick work of changing into the new stuff, but was a unsure of what to do with his old clothes. He wanted to just leave them, but was too used to clothing being reused. In the end, D’ar just folded them up and carried them back with him.

“That was quick.” Athos nodded his approval.

D’ar blushed. If nothing else, he’d had a lot of practice that morning getting in and out of his clothes. “What should I do with these?”

By the time they got out to the SUV, D’ar was glad that there were five of them on the trip – they needed that many hands to carry all of the bags. There was a brief discussion about where to go to for lunch, but thankfully D’ar was mostly left out of that. As far as he was concerned, he’d made enough decisions for one day, what with all the trying on of clothing.

In less time than D’ar would have imagined, they were parked on the street near a hole in the wall restaurant. D’ar was again confronted with choices, but the menu wasn’t all that big. Besides, it had hamburgers and onion rings, so it was a done deal once D’ar saw that – and Athos said it was okay. The restaurant also had soda, which D’ar hadn’t had in months. Both Mrs. Duras and Mrs. Royalton had avoided it, although for vastly different reasons. Mrs. Duras because she was cheap and Mrs. Royalton because it’d been too late in the day for him to have caffeine.

“Here you go, hon,” the waitress slid a large glass in front of D’ar when she delivered the table’s drinks.

Not waiting to unwrap the straw and use it, D’ar took a big gulp, but not as big as he’d planned to. The drink was stronger-tasting than he remembered and the bubbles tickled his nose. He put the glass down and immediately sneezed. He was embarrassed to realize that Athos and his friends were looking at him.

“Sorry, it’s been a while since I had soda,” D’ar explained, blushing.

“No apology necessary.” Athos told him. “Does it taste as good as you remember?”

D’ar took another drink, wiping his mouth and swallowing before answering. “Better.”

His reaction pleased the others. He noticed that Athos was drinking more coffee, Porthos and Aramis both had soda too and Contance just had a glass of water.

“You survived your first shopping trip,” Athos said. “In fact, you came away relatively unscathed.” He lifted his coffee cup. “To, D’ar.”

The others lifted their glasses too, so D’ar did the same. There was a clinking sound as they brought them together. Porthos, Aramis and Constance all repeated Athos’ ‘To D’ar’ and then everyone took a sip. It was a little silly, but it still made D’ar feel all warm inside.

“So, what’s next, Oh Mighty Strategic One?” Aramis asked, looking at Athos.

“We need a large rug for the floor in D’ar’s room and then I suppose we should stop by an electronics store to pick up a laptop for him.” Athos had a ready answer, so clearly he’d been thinking about it.

“A laptop?” D’ar asked. He still amazed from getting a phone, but a laptop too?

Athos misunderstood his question. “I think a laptop is a better choice for you than a desktop.” He shifted on his chair as though uncomfortable. “You see, sometimes my job – all of our jobs – take us away at inopportune times. Constance and her husband live nearby and her husband has offered for you to come join him none of us are available.”

D’ar frowned. He wasn’t a baby that needed constant watching, but wanted to be careful how he reacted. So far, Athos had been great, but D’ar didn’t want to offend him. “I could stay by myself.”

Athos was quick to reassure, although D’ar had a feeling that his brother was leaving something out. “It’s clear you’re very responsible, but Child Protective Services takes a dim view on unsupervised children; I’m not giving them the slightest chance to deny awarding me permanent custody.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” D’ar admitted. He did not like the idea of going back into foster care, even though if that did happen, he was pretty sure that Mrs. Royalton and Judge Freddy would make sure that it was a good one.

But he’d still rather live with Athos.

“You’ll only be staying with Bonnie when one of us is unavailable,” Aramis interjected. “And if I do say so myself, we are most excellent company.”

“If by ‘we,’ you mean you and your ego, I’m not sure that I agree,” Constance said tartly. She turned to D’ar. “My husband is a little more sophisticated than these louts.”

D’ar smiled wanly at her. “Okay.” Something occurred to him and, encouraged by the adults’ smiles, he decided to ask about it. “Why do you call him ‘Bonnie?’”

Porthos snorted. “It’s easier to say than that blasted last name, that’s why.”

Constance rolled her eyes. “It’s a perfectly good last name, but yes, that’s where the nickname comes from.”

“And he doesn’t mind being called a girl’s name?” D’ar asked.

Constance laughed. “He doesn’t think of it that way.”

Athos took out his phone and tapped on it for a few moments, which reminded D’ar of something. He waited until his brother was done, however, before he said anything.

“Athos?” D’ar asked. “You said that I could text Mrs. Royalton with my phone number. Can I do that now?”

“Certainly,” Athos smiled at him. “Get your phone out and I’ll show you how.”

D’ar did as instructed and it didn’t take long at all for Athos to explain it to him. Once he knew how to send a text, there was a new dilemma – what to say. Athos watched as D’ar’s fingers just stroked the screen and he seemed to understand that his little brother wasn’t sure of what to do.

“D’ar?” Athos asked softly. “I know Mrs. Royalton will be glad to hear from you.”

“I don’t know what to say,” D’ar admitted. He hadn’t actually corresponded with anyone before, let alone a grown up.

Athos nodded. “Sometimes words are hard to find.” One of the others made a stifled noise and Athos was distracted briefly to glare in their direction, but when he brought his attention back to D’ar, the expression on his face was kind again. “Would it be easier to send her a picture?”

D’ar wasn’t fond of getting his picture taken, but it sounded easier than coming up with a message. He nodded his head and Athos held out his hand for D’ar’s phone.

“I’ll show you how. Now, smile,” Athos pointed the phone at D’ar and, feeling extremely self-conscious, did as he requested. “What do you think?”

Athos showed him the photo and D’ar had to admit that it didn’t look half bad. The new clothes were a big help; he looked like a normal kid and not a foster kid.

“Perhaps Mrs. Royalton would like a photo with both of you,” Porthos suggested. “You know, as a way of knowing that Athos didn’t make a meal out of you or something.”

The idea of a picture with his brother appealed to D’ar – a lot. Maybe someday he’d even have on in a frame, like he did now with his parents.

“Do you mind?” D’ar asked Athos shyly.

Athos cleared his throat before answering. “Not at all.” He handed the phone to Aramis, who was sitting across from them. “Will you do the honors?”

“Certainly,” Aramis took the phone and directed it at them. “The two of you need to get closer.”

His brother put his arm around D’ar and D’ar lost no time snuggling closer. It felt good to have a reason to press close and a smile was easy to find. The photo was taken all too quickly. Aramis showed it to them and D’ar almost didn’t recognize himself. He looked – happy? Not only that, but Athos had a smile nearly as wide and D’ar could already tell that was a rarity.

“Would you mind sending me a copy of that?” Athos asked quietly, looking over D’ar’s shoulder at the phone’s screen.

“Okay, but you’ll have to show me how,” D’ar agreed.

“I think, little brother, you better send one to all o’ us,” Porthos gestured around the table. “That one’s a keeper, that’s for sure.”

D’ar remembered the instructions Athos had given him a few minutes earlier and easily sent Mrs. Royalton a text. All the message said was ‘It’s going really well,’ but he included the photo too. To the others, he just sent the picture.

Even though he’d sent the text to Mrs. Royalton literally moments before, D’ar’s phone was vibrating by the time he finished sending to the pictures to the others.

“She answered me,” D’ar said to his brother, not bothering to hide the awe in his voice.

Athos chuckled. “Mrs. Royalton cares very deeply about you and your welfare; she was no doubt very happy to hear from you. Go ahead, open the message.”

D’ar looked at the text from his social worker and grinned. “She said she’s glad that everything’s going so well and that it’s a really good picture.” His phone vibrated again with another message. “She said she’ll see me soon. What does that mean?”

“After what happened with your previous foster parents, I imagine that Mrs. Royalton is going to go to great lengths to make sure that living me with me is a good situation for you and that will likely involve visits,” Athos shrugged. “Since I have every intention of making a good home for you, it won’t be a problem.”

“Oh, okay.” D’ar said. “Do you know when she’s coming?”

“Nothing’s has been scheduled yet,” Athos told him. “And I know that at least one of the visits, possibly more, will be a surprise. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

The waitress came back to their table, hefting a large tray full of plates. “Here we go, folks.”

As soon as he smelled the aromas from their meals, D’ar’s mouth started to water. His peanut butter sandwich had been very satisfying for breakfast, but that was hours ago and he’d had a shopping marathon since then. The waitress served Constance first and then D’ar. By the time the men got their lunches, D’ar had already eaten one onion ring and taken a big bite of his cheeseburger.

“Shopping’s hungry work,” Porthos stated. He’d also taken a big bite of his sandwich. 

D’ar nodded, his mouth too full to speak. 

Most of their conversation had to do with the food and the diner itself and D’ar slowly relaxed. He’d been the center of attention during the shopping trip. It’s been a tense experience for him, not only because of all the attention, but also due to the worry that he’d somehow overstep himself.

“D’ar, I couldn’t help but notice that much of the clothing you picked out today was blue.” Athos said after they were partway through the meal. “Was that because we were concentrating on buying you jeans or because you’re fond of the color?”

“Both?” D’ar said. He shot a quick glance at Constance, wondering if she’d bring up the pink shirt again, but she didn’t seem inclined to. “Why, is there something wrong with blue?”

Athos shook his head. “Not at all, I was just wondering if you’d like to paint the walls in your room blue.”

Now that he thought about it, Athos had mentioned something about painting the night before. D’ar hadn’t been much attention because he’d seen his parents’ photos. It showed how important the pictures were to D’ar that he’d all but ignored the paint comment. Getting to choose the color of his room was unheard of. “You sure you want to paint the walls? What if Judge Freddy says I can’t stay?”

His questions caused Athos’ eyes to darken in a way that made his brother look sad, not angry. “Believe me, I am going to do everything in my power to convince Judge Freddy that living with me is the best option for you and, even if she disagrees, paint is cheap.”

“And white walls are boring,” Aramis nodded.

Constance smiled at D’ar kindly. “Or maybe you want to wait until you pick out a rug and use one of the accent colors.”

Porthos snorted. “Like pink?”

The color came to Constance’s cheeks, but she didn’t seem mad. Instead, she laughed before replying. “I should have known you lot weren’t sophisticated enough to appreciate a full palette of colors.”

Greatly daring, D’ar alluded to something that Constance had said earlier about her husband being sophisticated. “Does that mean your husband likes pink?”

The others blinked at him in response and D’ar wondered if he’d offended by joining in the joking, but their blank looks soon blossomed into smiles.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, he does,” Constance looked smug as she answered. “He has a pink tie that looks particularly lovely with his gray suit.”

Athos had been looking at his phone again while they chatted, but he put it away by the time they were done. “Perhaps we’ll leave the paint choice to another day. Now, if everyone’s finished, we can move on to rug shopping.”

They stopped at counter at the front of the diner to pay. Next to the cash register was a bakery display and it had the largest cookies in it that D’ar had seen; they were almost as big as plates.

“You want one?” Athos asked him.

Reluctantly, D’ar shook his head. “I had a lot of lunch, I don’t think I could finish it.”

“You can save it for later,” Athos told him. “Which one would you like?”

After looking over the selection, D’ar choose a snickerdoodle. Soon the lunch was paid for and the group was headed back to the SUV.

“Might need to get another vehicle,” Porthos said as they piled back in. “That cookie’s gonna take up the whole back seat.”

D’ar had a feeling he was being teased. Sure enough, he looked up and, in the rear view mirror, clearly saw Porthos wink at him. He smiled back and stowed the cookie away for later.

Shopping for something to put on his floor had less appeal to D’ar than even the clothes shopping had, but he was enjoying his time with Athos and his friends, so he didn’t mind too much. Unfortunately, getting there involved another long car ride. Much of the time, Athos was looking at his phone, so it wasn’t as interesting to D’ar as the ride to the department store had been. As they pulled in to park, though, his brother put the device away and actually apologized.

“I’m sorry I’ve been distracted,” Athos said as they exited the SUV. “I had arrangements I had to make for tomorrow.”

D’ar shrugged. “It’s okay, I know you’ve got important stuff to do.”

Athos put a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing’s more important than you, but at least the arrangements had to do with you.” When D’ar looked surprised, he explained. “Among other chores tomorrow, we have to go to your school and pick up your homework.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” D’ar sighed. He wouldn’t have minded if Athos had forgotten that detail.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Athos chuckled as he ruffled D’ar’s hair. “You’ll have all weekend to do it and, thanks to our activities this afternoon, a new tool to do it on.”

D’ar brightened at the reminder of getting a laptop. “Okay.”

The rug store turned out to be a furniture store with a large rug department. The large hanging racks used to display the rugs were kind of neat, but mostly it was boring. The adults dove in, each with their own opinion and the salesman that had approached them was hard-pressed to keep up with them all. 

As for D’ar, he was distracted. The store was set up like so the furniture was in a lot of little rooms, each complete with its own decorations and knickknacks. The one nearest the rugs caught D’ar’s eye because of what was on the wall. It was a metal sculpture of a running horse. Or, rather, the outline of a horse. It was though someone had taken the lines of a sketch and rendered them in metal. D’ar had a hard time taking his eyes off of it.

“You miss horses?” A soft voice interrupted his study of the wall sculpture.

D’ar jumped and turned to apologize for not paying attention to the rug shopping, but the look on Athos’ face was so kind that he instead smiled sheepishly. “Yeah.” He jerked his chin at the sculpture. “This is really cool.”

“Yes, it’s beautiful.” Athos didn’t take his eyes off the sculpture. “I rode while I was at boarding school and enjoyed it very much.”

“You did?” D’ar was thrilled to find out that he and his brother had a connection with something they both loved. “Cool.”

“It was, very much so.” A slight smile flitted across Athos’ face. “Now, we’ve whittled the rug choices down to a few and I’d like your input.”

The two brothers walked back over to the others, who were waiting for them. As promised, though, D’ar was only presented with three rugs to look at.

“D’ar, we’ve got some promising choices for you,” Aramis told him. “Your brother refuses to make the decision.”

“That’s because it’s D’ar’s room,” Athos turned to D’ar. “You’re the one who has to live with it. All three are fine as far as I’m concerned.”

D’ar looked at the rugs that Athos and his friends and pulled out. They were all blue, but that’s about all they had in common. The first one was plain blue, or at least that was what D’ar originally thought. As he looked at it more closely, however, he could see that there were flecks of brown and other colors. It reminded him of a tweed hat that his dad used to have. The second rug reminded D’ar a lot of the living room in Athos’ apartment. It was a blue-ish gray color and had geometric shapes on it, mostly in black or a darker gray color, but once in a while, in a pop of bright red. 

They were nice enough, but the third rug immediately caught D’ar’s eye. It was mostly a plain blue, like the first one, but had a border on it like his saddle pad used to. The design was a series of intertwined lines, in darker blue and a burnt orange color. D’ar reached out to touch the rug as soon as he saw it, smiling at the remembrance of helping his dad saddle Buttercup, the horse he’d been given on his seventh birthday.

“We’ll take this one,” Athos said to the salesman. He patted D’ar’s shoulder. “I think that’s the easiest decision we’ve made you make all day,”

“An excellent choice,” the man interjected. “Do we need to arrange delivery?”

“Yes, that would be ideal.” Athos looked at others. “D’ar doesn’t need to be present for the financial details, why don’t you wander around and see if any of the room vignettes give D’ar any ideas of what he’d like his room to look like?”

D’ar sighed. Furniture stores were boring, but at least it would be marginally more interesting than watching his brother pay for stuff. D’ar knew he was on his best behavior, so he figured Athos was shooing him away because D’ar got uncomfortable when Athos spent money on him. Not wanting to be more trouble, he let Aramis and Porthos lead him away. Constance chose to stay with Athos.

“Bedrooms are over there,” Porthos said, taking the lead and walking to the opposite side of the store.

The three of them stopped in front of the first bedroom scene, which D’ar now knew was called a vignette. It was for a girl’s room and, appalled, D’ar came to a complete stop at the sight of it. It soon became clear that he wasn’t the only one either.

“That is an ungodly amount of pink,” Aramis stated.

Porthos nodded. “Looks like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol blew up.”

While he appreciated that the adult men had the same reaction, the reference to the pink stomach medicine didn’t help. D’ar’d had a foster or two who’d used it on him and the stuff was as unpleasant as the color.

“Let’s move,” D’ar shot an anxious look over his shoulder. Constance had wanted him to get a pink shirt, what would she think of a pink room?

Aramis shuddered. “Yes, let’s continue. I don’t think my eyes can take much more.”

They toured the rest of the bedroom settings, but none of them were very appealing. There were vignettes set up for boys, but they seemed to be more for small kids and not one D’ar’s age. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking for anyway, but at least he knew how he didn’t want his room decorated – no pink and no decals of zoo animals on the walls.

D’ar jumped when his phone vibrated. The other two looked at him, but didn’t ask anything. When D’ar sheepishly pulled his phone out, though, they chuckled.

“You’ll get used to it,” Aramis assured him.

“I suppose,” D’ar didn’t argue, although he had a hard time believing that he’d ever get used to having something so fancy. He looked at the screen and quickly read what it said. “Athos is done, he wants us to meet him at the door.”

“Onward, then,” Aramis took off his hat and made a sweeping gesture with it. “Our gallant leader has spoken.”

D’ar gave him a look, but the mischievous twinkle in Aramis’ eyes – and the way that Porthos rolled his – was reassuring. These were the strangest grown-ups that D’ar had ever been around; he never knew quite what to expect. He had to admit, though, that they were kind of fun.

Athos and Constance were both waiting for them at the entrance and soon the group was headed out to the SUV again.

“Electronics store next,” Porthos rubbed his hands together. “We’re gonna get you set up with a laptop.”

D’ar perked up. Shopping for a computer sounded like a lot more fun than trying on clothes or picking out a rug. His stomach growled softly and D’ar looked longingly at the cookie was stashed in the pouch on the seat in front of him. Athos must have heard it, because he smiled at D’ar.

“Go ahead, have your dessert, it’s going to take us some time to get there anyway.”

Unlike with the shopping, D’ar didn’t need much encouragement. He happily got out the cookie and unwrapped it. He was struck anew by how big it was and knew he couldn’t eat it all himself.

“Does anyone want some?” D’ar asked. “There’s enough to share.”

There was more than enough cookie to go around amongst the five of them. During the drive, Athos checked his phone a few more times, but so did the other adults. Well, those that weren’t driving. D’ar was getting used to the grown-ups and so he wasn’t quite as afraid of saying something wrong, but neither was he quite bold enough to joke with the others.

When they arrived at the electronics store, D’ar accompanied the others inside with more enthusiasm than he had the department or furniture stores. Porthos again led the way and he knew right where he was going. D’ar looked around with a sense of wonder; he didn’t know that so many different laptops existed. It was exciting, but confusing too.

Porthos, on the other hand, wasn’t confused at all. In fact, he went straight to one particular model. “This is the one I had in mind. It’s got a good processor, enough memory and a graphics card that should have pretty decent gaming ability.”

“Gaming?” Athos sounded unsure. He turned to D’ar, who just shrugged. He’d heard other kids talk about computer games, but had little first-hand experience.

Luckily, Aramis had no such doubt. “Gaming,” he repeated firmly. “All work and no play makes for a very dull existence. Oh, I’m not suggesting ‘Call of Duty’ or that awful car thief nonsense, but there are other options more suitable for a boy D’ar’s age.”

Athos looked at D’ar again and seemed to come to a decision. “Let’s get a laptop that has the capability needed for gaming; D’ar and I can work out the boundaries later.”

The next hour or so was enjoyable for D’ar. Constance soon excused herself, but D’ar didn’t pay much attention. He was too engrossed in watching the adults talk computers and, when the sales woman joined them, she even let D’ar try out some of the floor models. Eventually they decided on the original one that Porthos had recommended, although none of the others seemed to begrudge the additional time.

By the time they were finished, they not only had the laptop, but a whole bunch of accessories. Constance joined them at the checkout line and, far from being dismayed at the amount of stuff they had, actually suggested more.

“What about a printer?” Constance asked. “D’ar’s going to want to print out assignments for school and the like.”

“True,” Athos blew a wayward curl out of his eyes. “I just do my printing in the office, but that won’t always be convenient for D’ar.” He looked over the state of his companions and came to a quick decision. “We’ll pick one up later. I doubt it could fit in the SUV right now anyway.”

D’ar stuck by Athos during the payment process and tried not to flinch when he saw the total. His stoicism and lack of reaction prompted a small smile from Athos, but otherwise his brother didn’t comment.

“Here, I gather you’ll want to hang on to this,” Athos handed him the laptop box after it was paid for and D’ar clutched it eagerly as the group made their way back to the SUV.

The drive back to the apartment was the longest yet or maybe it just felt that way because D’ar was excited about the new computer. Once they finally arrived, everyone pitched in to carry bags upstairs, although Aramis and Constance soon begged off to go back down to the office.

“Where do you want it?” Porthos asked, but he was looking at Athos and not D’ar.

“The kitchen table for now,” Athos instructed him.

Porthos immediately began setting up the laptop and D’ar became his shadow. He’d used computers at school before, but not a laptop and had never seen one set up. It seemed pretty simple, but D’ar was very glad that Porthos knew what he was doing. Athos wandered about, sometimes going into his bedroom or down to the office. He was often on the phone. D’ar was too wrapped up in what he and Porthos were doing to pay much attention to who Athos was talking to, however, or what he was saying.

“All right, click on that icon right there and you should be online,” Porthos finally instructed D’ar.

D’ar did as told and, sure enough, up come the familiar Google website. He grinned at Porthos and, when the man held up his hand for a high-five, readily responded. Porthos was an intimidating-looking guy, but first knowing that he’d been a foster kid like D’ar and then the way he’d been so patient while setting up the laptop had gone a long way to helping D’ar feel more comfortable around him.

“I take it that’s a sign of a job successfully completed?” Athos asked. He was leaning against the door frame and had a smile on his face.

“The kid’s a natural,” Porthos claimed. “Pretty soon he’s going to be heading up the Musketeer’s IT department.”

D’ar blushed, but still managed to grin at the compliment. “Porthos did most of the work.”

“Well, whatever the division of labor, congratulations.” Athos walked into the room and came around to the back of the desk to see the fruits of their labor. “We will have to have a talk about the rules of your internet use - . . . .”

Porthos made a weird cough. To D’ar, it sounded suspiciously like he was covering up saying ‘buzzkill.’ Athos must have thought the same thing, because he glared at his friend.

“As I was saying, before I was interrupted,” Athos shot another glare at Porthos, but the big man just smiled innocently. “We will draft some rules concerning the internet, but that can wait until later. Right now, we’re meeting Constance’s husband, Jack, for dinner.”

“Computing is hungry work,” Porthos stood up and gestured impatiently. “What are you waiting for?”

“I thought shopping was hungry work?” Athos asked in a mild tone of voice. He’d hung back with D’ar and turned to wink at his brother.

Porthos grinned at them over his shoulder. “What can I say? Lots of things make me hungry.”

The three of them trouped down to the stairs and out to the area behind the building where the vehicles were parked. Both Constance and Aramis were there, the latter with a doleful expression on his face. He had his hat in his hand and, although D’ar didn’t know the man well, he could tell that he was a little distraught.

“I’m going to have to beg off dinner tonight,” Aramis greeted them. “I’m sorry, D’ar.”

“You gotta date?” Porthos asked.

“More like he’s avoiding one, Constance must have mentioned our dining destination.” Athos said softly. In louder voice, he addressed his friend. “Mama O’s is safe once more; Violetta has a fiancé.”

Aramis perked up. “She has?”

“Yes, Fausto told me,” Athos said. “He also mentioned that his mother has noted our absence and is threatening to withhold deliveries until we make a personal appearance.”

With a grin, Aramis put his hat back on and took a moment to adjust it to a jaunty angle. “Well, then, what are we waiting for?”

D’ar was pleased when the adults didn’t make a beeline for the vehicles. Instead they started walking. It felt like he’d been cooped up in a car all day, so D’ar didn’t mind walking at all. They hadn’t covered but a couple of blocks when Porthos, who was in the lead, turned off into a restaurant that had green awnings and red checkered curtains in the windows. There was no need for anyone to tell D’ar what kind of restaurant it was; the delicious aroma of Italian food was apparent as soon as they walked in.

A tall man with a moustache was standing right inside of the door and he looked relieved when he saw them.

“Bonnie, there you are,” Constance smiled at the man and D’ar realized it was her husband. “Come and meet our newest member. Bonnie, this is D’ar and, D’ar, this is my husband, Jack Bonacieux.”

“Hello, Mr. Bonacieux,” D’ar dutifully held out his hand as he greeted the newest adult. To his immense relief, Constance’s husband seemed content to leave the introduction to a handshake; D’ar’d been half expecting another hug.

“Please, call me Bonnie or, if you’re not comfortable with that, Jack will do,” the man replied. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“Thanks,” D’ar didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t imagine himself calling a grown-up man Bonnie, so he was glad he’d been given an alternative. Unlike Athos’ other friends, Jack seemed quiet and a little shy.

Before things became awkward, a voice called out to the group.

“Athos!” A short woman greeted them as she walked up to the podium. “Where have you been, il mio amico assente?”

“Mie scuse,” Athos replied. “Life has been rather hectic of late.”

“Excuses, excuses,” the woman looked up at Athos, not at all intimidated. She was short and thin, with dark eyes and dark hair coiled in an elaborate bun on the top of her head. From the bright look in her eyes and the way she tilted her head to the side, D’ar was reminded of a bird. “There is always time for food and friends. You’re going to work yourself sick if you’re not careful.”

Before Athos could say anything else, her eyes roamed over the rest of the group. “Porthos, a man after my own heart; you know how to appreciate a well-cooked meal. I hope you brought your appetite.”

Porthos patted his stomach. “Don’t ever leave home without it, Mama.”

“Miss Constance, is Mr. Jack still treating you well?” The woman asked. 

Constance readily smiled. “Spoils me rotten, he does.”

“Good, good,” the small woman returned the smile with a grin of her own. “That’s the way it should be.” Her eyes narrowed as she caught site of another member of the group, one who’d all but buried himself in the back. “Don’t think you can hide from me, Aramis. You’re a little late, my Violetta has already been spoken for. Her Antonio finally asked her to marry him and she said yes.”

“My loss is Antonio’s gain,” Aramis smiled as he swept his hat off and bowed, apparently having given up on being inconspicuous. “Congratulations on the last of your daughters finding the love of her life.”

“My daughters, yes, but my sister and two of her daughters will be visiting next month. My nieces both need husbands.” The woman ignored the way Aramis’ grin became somewhat sickly looking and instead turned back to Athos. “Seems to me that Aramis isn’t the only one of your group that could use a wife.”

Before Athos could respond, the woman’s bright, piercing eyes turned to D’ar. He gulped, but her voice gentled when she next spoke. “And who is this fine young gentleman?”

Athos was standing behind D’ar and he put his hands on his brother’s shoulders as he proceeded with introductions. “This is my brother, D’ar Castlemore. D’ar, this is Mama O, a purveyor of the finest Italian cuisine outside of Italy itself – and a very good friend.”

Mama O’s expression was full of surprise. “A brother. Athos, you never said you had a brother.”

“I only recently made the discovery myself,” Athos explained. 

To D’ar’s deep embarrassment, Mama O came up to him and put the fingers of one hand under D’ar’s chin, tilting his head one way and then the other as she studied him carefully. Seemingly satisfied, she let go and stepped back. “You are Italiano, yes?”

D’ar thought hard. “On my mom’s side, I think. Her mother was.”

“You think, child?” Mama O, threw a startled glance Athos’ way. “Why don’t you know?”

“D’ar’s grandparents passed away before he was born,” Athos explained. His hands were still on D’ar’s shoulders and squeezed gently, no doubt in support of the unpleasant reminders. “And he lost his mother at a young age too. I’ve been granted temporary custody and am hoping D’ar can make a permanent home with me.”

“Oh, my dear, I am sorry,” Mama O reached out and took D’ar’s hands. “Your brother, he is a good man.” She tilted her head. “Everyone calls me Mama O, but you will not.”

“I won’t?” Her words were confusing, since she’d seemed so friendly.

“No, to you I will be Nonna,” Mama O leaned forward and kissed D’ar on each cheek, causing him to blush. “Every boy needs a grandmamma to spoil him rotten.”

D’ar gaped. “But you’re not old enough to be a grandmother.”

The adults snickered, but D’ar was serious. Mama O was older than Athos, but not old enough to be his mother. Grandmothers were supposed to be gray-haired and wrinkled and Mama O was anything but. She patted D’ar’s cheek before letting her hands drop.

“I’m glad that someone around here has noticed,” Mama O said smugly. “Athos, how much time has this child been spending around Aramis?”

Aramis made a wordless noise of protest, causing the others to laugh some more. 

“Truly, Mama O, D’ar just met all of us yesterday.” Athos told the woman. “He must just be polite by nature, none of us have had time to rub off on him.”

A much younger woman approached them, a pile of menus in her hand. “Mama, shall I get them a table?”

“No, for them, the party room,” Mama O declared. “And no menus tonight, we’re welcoming a new family member.” She nodded at D’ar. “This is Athos’ brother, D’ar, and I have decided that he’s my grandson.”

The young woman giggled. “He’s cute, especially when he blushes.” Which D’ar was doing, furiously. “I’m Clelia, Mama’s oldest.”

“Come, this way,” Mama looped her arm through D’ar’s and he had no choice but to follow.

“Mama, are you sure?” Athos protested. “I know you use that for special parties and the like.”

“And isn’t this a special occasion?” She smiled at him. “Besides, the room is rarely used on a weeknight. It’s standing empty; might as well put it to good use.” She spoke to Clelia in Italian and her daughter rushed away.

“Now, I have four daughters and one son, but no grandchildren yet,” Mama O confided to D’ar. “So, you will be helping me, yes? I know how to be a mama and I know how to be a sister and a zia but a nonna? This is bound to happen sooner or later and so I must practice.”

“But I’ve never had a grandmother before,” D’ar protested, if weakly. He figured he better be up front about his lack of experience in being a grandson.

His disclaimer didn’t deter her at all. “Well, then, we will learn together.”

The main dining room was full of tables, most of them with customers seated around them. D’ar noticed one small table off to the side, almost behind a curtain. A kid was seated at it and he was about D’ar’s age. Instead of food in front of him, though, the boy had books. He looked up Mama O walked them past, but didn’t say anything. Mama O guided them to another room walled off with glass. Inside the room was a large, round table and more red checked draperies offered privacy. Once inside, Mama O let go of D’ar and gestured around the table.

“Sit, sit.” She instructed them all. The young woman returned with a tray of water glasses and a small plate. “Ah, thank you, Clelia.”

While her daughter distributed the glasses, Mama O set the plate in front of D’ar. It had a couple of cookies on it. D’ar looked from her to Athos.

“You’ll ruin his dinner,” Athos said, but he didn’t look upset about it.

Mama O sniffed. “As a mother, I would be appalled, but nonnas are supposed to spoil their grandchildren. Besides, he’s a growing boy and, if he’s anything like my nephews, he’s a bottomless pit.”

Athos nodded at D’ar. “Go ahead, Mama O has spoken and far be it from me to protest.”

D’ar picked up a cookie and, even though it was small, broke it in two. He offered the plate to the others, but they all shook their heads no.

“Thank you, but those are yours,” Aramis spoke for the group.

He felt self-conscious with everyone watching, but with Mama O looking on, D’ar had no choice but to take a bite of cookie. When he did, a combination of butter and almond flavors flooded his mouth. “It’s good, thank you.”

Mama O ruffled his hair. “Such good manners.” She addressed the adults as she walked towards the door. “I’ll send in some wine and tidbits to start on. Relax, you’re among family here.”

When Mama O left the room, the others looked at D’ar with varying expressions of amusement and respect.

“Well, you just keep making conquests,” Aramis crowed. “We’ll make a ladies man of you yet.”

D’ar felt the blush go up his face until the tips of his ears felt hot. He took a sudden interest in his cookie, crumbling it in his fingers. “I was just being polite.”

“Courtesy is always a good choice,” Athos patted D’ar on the arm.

“Aramis is just jealous is all, pay him no mind.” Porthos added.

A different young woman came into the room and she was carrying a tray laden with baskets of bread. Right behind her, Clelia returned. She had two bottles of wine.

“Congratulations, Violetta,” Constance called out when she saw the first woman. “Your mother told us the good news.”

“Grazie,” Violetta replied. “And you can quit pretending to pout, Aramis, I know that Mama was pursuing you hot and heavy to hook the two of us up. You can breathe freely now.”

“Actually, the missed opportunity with your fair self isn’t the only reason for my melancholy.” Aramis did seem a little wild around the eyes. “It’s my understanding that you’ll soon have visitors from the mother country and that two of them will be in search of husbands.”

Both sisters started to giggle.

“You won’t need to worry about them,” Clelia explained as she was filling the adults’ wine glasses. “We Skype with our cousins a lot. The whole reason they’re coming is so that Zia Leota can tell Mama that Dani is engaged.”

“And Palmira would be more interested in Constance that she would be you,” Violetta added. “That’s going to be another conversation that takes place while they’re here.” She winked at Aramis. “You’re safe, Aramis.”

Aramis grinned and picked up his glass. “To the Bianchi women, from both shores!”

D’ar had been given a glass of milk, but he lifted it to toast with the others. After they’d all taken a sip, Athos turned to Jack.

“Has your wife broken the news to you yet that she’s volunteered you to tailor D’ar’s newly acquired clothing?” He asked.

To D’ar’s relief, the man simply smiled. “Yes and I’m perfectly happy to help out.” He turned to D’ar and looked at him appraisingly. “Forgive me, but I can see why you have a hard time finding clothing that fits well.” He shifted his attention to Athos. “This child is far too thin.”

D’ar frowned. Dr. Archie had said he was too skinny too and trying on clothes had made it painfully clear that he was right. Still, D’ar didn’t like a stranger saying something about it, even if he was a friend of his brother’s.

“We’re working on that,” Athos’ tone was a slightly short, so D’ar figured that he wasn’t the only one a little miffed about the comment.

“If D’ar gets as many cookies every day as he did today, won’t be a problem for long.” Porthos’ voice was an amused rumble.

That comment prompted the others to give Jack a lively account of their activities for the day. D’ar nibbled on his cookie and listened. Everyone seemed to have enjoyed their day, despite it being filled with outfitting him, the surprise brother. Jack wasn’t quite as lively as the others, but seemed amused by their bantering. 

The discussion was interrupted by the arrival of the food – a lot of food. Mama O, her daughters and a man carried in platters and bowls of food, setting them around the table.

“Angelo, you’ve outdone yourself,” Athos complimented the man. “D’ar, Angelo is Mama O’s brother and he does the cooking.”

“Under my sister’s supervision, of course,” the man was quick to add.

“Of course,” Athos replied blandly. Mama O just sniffed.

“Welcome, D’ar,” Angelo wiped his hands on his apron and offered one to D’ar to shake. D’ar complied with a shy smile. “My boys are about your age and they play soccer every Saturday morning at the local field house. I was told to ask you if you’d like join in.”

D’ar looked at his brother. He’d spent most of the last couple of days in the company of adults; playing with kids his own age would be a reprieve. If they were half as nice as the adults in their family were, it might be fun. Then again, what if they weren’t nice? What if they were only asking because the adults put them up to it?

Athos studied D’ar carefully. “Does that sound like something you’d like to do?”

“I think so, unless you had something else planned?” D’ar couldn’t help but feel unsure about the whole thing.

Athos seemed to understand D’ar’s hesitation. “No, no plans so far.” He turned to Angelo. “D’ar’s still settling in, so no guarantees at this point, but just in case, where and when?”

Angelo gave the name of someplace and D’ar was relieved to see that Athos seemed to know where it was. He was also relieved that Athos didn’t 100% commit to D’ar being there. He could back out if he needed to.

Mama O and her helpers left the room, encouraging them to dig in. D’ar wasn’t sure how many different things had been brought in and each platter looked big enough to feed the whole table on its own. He lost interest in anything else after seeing the spaghetti and meatballs and soon was in pasta heaven.

“Good?” Athos asked after D’ar had taken a few bites.

“Very!” D’ar replied so enthusiastically that the others chuckled.

The group settled in to their meals and conversation was limited for a time to requests to pass certain items and blissful comments about the various dishes. The others must have been as hungry as D’ar was, because no one was saying much else and D’ar already knew that was unusual for the group. By the time plates were cleaned off, some of them for the second time, Mama O and her daughters came in again. While the younger women started clearing plates, Mama placed a bowl in the middle of the table. Whatever was in it was layered and was obviously a dessert.

“Ah, Mama, your tiramisu is to die for,” Aramis, who just moments before had vowed he’d never eat again, had perked up.

“You exaggerate, as usual,” Mama O scolded him, but she was grinning while she did it. “But keep it coming and I might just forgive you for not being interested in one of my lovely daughters.”

“Alas, I’m afraid I’m no match for one of the Bianchi women,” Aramis countered. “They’d be wasted on the likes of me.”

“You do not give yourself enough credit,” Mama O replied. “Someday you will decide that you want to be caught and then your life will change.”

Clelia came back into the room carrying a small bowl, which she put down in front of D’ar. It held chocolate ice cream.

“Tiramisu is coffee-flavored, D’ar,” Mama O explained. “It’s been my experience that most youngsters like something plain chocolate better.”

D’ar knew by now what was expected of him and took a small bite. “It’s good.”

“Wonderful,” Mama O beamed at him. “Enjoy everyone.”

The ice cream was delicious and D’ar wanted to savor it, but he was just too full. He took a few bites and then just swirled his spoon in the rest while the adult conversation went on around him. It’d been a busy day and suddenly he was exhausted.

“D’ar are you all right?” Athos’ voice sounded concerned.

“Just tired,” D’ar shrugged.

“That’s a relief, ‘cause there for a minute I thought you didn’t like ice cream.” Porthos commented. “An’ I thought everyone liked ice cream.”

“It’s good,” D’ar said sheepishly. “But I think if I eat one more thing, I’m going to explode.” The adults around the table looked at him in alarm and D’ar realized that they’d taken him literally. “I’m not going to barf or anything.”

There was some relieved chuckling from the others, but Athos nodded at him in approval.

“You’re a smart, to know when to stop,” Athos told him. “I have a feeling that I will be regretting not doing the same.”

“But it’s so good,” Aramis protested. He took a big bite that was exceeded in size only by his smile as he chewed and swallowed. “I just can’t help myself.”

“Which explains a few things,” Constance said tartly. “And I’m not just talking about dessert either.”

Athos cleared his throat and glared at her and D’ar had a feeling that the joke had been an adult thing. Constance glanced at him quickly and blushed, but didn’t say anything more.

Mama O bustled into the room again and looked at the empty dessert bowl with satisfaction and D’ar’s mostly full one with understanding. “Ah, too full for dessert?”

“Yeah,” D’ar admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mama O patted him on the shoulder and she took his bowl from him. “That means you enjoyed your supper, which is a compliment.”

The grown-ups must have been tired too, because the dinner broke up shortly after that. They were stalled at the door while Athos argued with Mama O about the bill – he thought it was too small. While they discussed it, D’ar’s mind wandered, but he was brought back to himself by the sensation of something hitting him lightly on the back. He turned around to see that a wad of paper had been thrown at him and was now on the floor.

“Psst,” the boy D’ar had noticed earlier was peeking around a door that led to a short hallway. D’ar noticed a sign that indicated it led to the bathrooms. “Are you gonna come on Saturday?”

Realizing that the other boy must be one of Angelo’s sons, D’ar bit his lip before answering. “Maybe.”

“Aw, you gotta come.” The boy half-stepped out of the doorway, but caught sight of Mama O and darted back to his partial cover. “You look like you can run really fast – are you fast?”

D’ar studied the other boy, but there appeared to be nothing but genuine interest in his eyes. It occurred to D’ar then that for the first time in three years, he wasn’t carrying the stigma of being a foster child. Not only that, but it was clear that this kid was interested in him because of what he might be able to do and not because a grown-up had put him up to it.

“Yeah, I’m really fast,” D’ar admitted, with a grin. 

“You gotta be there on Saturday, then,” the boy pleaded. “We’re playing the kids from the 800 block, a couple of streets over, and they leave us in the dust a lot of time.”

D’ar shot a quick glance at Athos, who was still in negotiations with Mama O. “I gotta talk to my brother, but I think he’ll let me do it.”

“Awesome!” The boy did a quiet little happy dance. “I’m Paulie, by the way.”

“I’m D’ar.” It was said with pride, but a little bit of apprehension too. Paulie was a potential friend, but a lot depended on how he reacted to D’ar’s name. After waiting so long to openly use his chosen name, he wasn’t about to go back to being Charles again.

“That’s cool,” Paulie, to D’ar’s immense relief, was enthusiastic about it. “I wish I had a – uh, oh. Busted. Gotta run, see you on Saturday.”

Before D’ar could ask what the problem was, Paulie had disappeared down the hallway. A moment later, a hand was rested on D’ar’s shoulder.

“Who was that?” Athos sounded curious rather than angry.

“Paulie,” D’ar told him. “One of the kids that wants me to play soccer on Saturday. He seemed nice.”

“If he’s anything like the rest of his family, I imagine he is,” Athos said. He handed D’ar a plastic bag that was kind of heavy. “Here, Mama O sent some ice cream home for you to enjoy when you’re not so full.”

D’ar wasn’t the only one with a take away container; most of the group was holding at least one. The conversation on the way home was a lot more subdued than it been going to the restaurant. The sun had set and the cooler air helped D’ar feel more awake by the time they got back to their building. 

“So what’s on the docket for tomorrow?” Aramis asked as they approached the small parking lot.

“D’ar and I have some errands to run,” Athos replied. “And I believe there are some cases that will keep the rest of you busy.”

Aramis looked ready to pout, but Porthos tweaked his hat from behind so that it dipped down and covered Aramis’ eyes.

“That’s good,” Porthos nodded at D’ar. “You two can have some brotherly bonding time.”

D’ar felt an overwhelming sense of relief to hear that it would just be him and Athos the next day. His brother’s friends were nice, but all three of them had been a bit much to handle when he wasn’t even used to Athos yet.

After wishing everyone a good night, and promising to see Constance’s husband the next day, D’ar followed Athos into the building and up the stairs. When they got inside, D’ar hung up their coats while Athos stowed the leftovers in the fridge and freezer.

“I know it’s been a long day, but I think it would be best to go through your new clothing tonight,” Athos suggested after they’d both finished.

“Go through the clothes?” D’ar asked.

“Removing tags and the like,” Athos explained. “In the morning, we’re dropping off the things that Jack will alter and we should have them all ready to go.”

“Oh, okay.” D’ar said and then yawned.

Athos chuckled. “I’ll help you; it won’t take long.”

They both paused when they got to D’ar’s room and saw the mountain of bags stacked on his bed. D’ar bit his lip. It’d felt like they’d been buying a lot, but in his excitement over the computer, he’d forgotten just how much had been purchased.

“Like I said, with two of us, it shouldn’t be so bad,” Athos sounded less confident than he had before, but at least he didn’t seem to be angry at the visible evidence of how much money he’d spent that day on his brother.

Their work was delayed a little by the realization that there was no wastebaskets in D’ar’s room, nor did he have a laundry hamper. D’ar almost groaned when he realized those lacks would lead to more shopping, but became more enthusiastic when Athos showed him how he could use a notes function in his phone to keep a list. Soon, they had a system down. D’ar would snip off any hang tags with a scissors that Athos had provided, while Athos took care of any stickers and also folded the clothing into stacks. They solved the trash container problem by putting the discarding tags and packaging in one of the empty bags.

They worked in companionable silence until Athos cleared his throat.

“I wanted to apologize for today,” Athos said.

D’ar looked around at all the stuff that Athos had bought him, stuff that Athos himself had said was essential. “What for?”

“The shopping and the eating out and the more shopping,” Athos explained. “Aramis, Porthos, and Constance, not to mention Mama O and her daughters, plus Jack. I think it all might have been a bit much for your first day here. I’m sorry about that.”

D’ar shrugged, even though it had been a lot to handle. “It’s okay. Besides, they were all nice people.” He smiled shyly at his brother. “But it’ll be better with just the two of us tomorrow.”

Athos’ answering smile was equally nervous. “It wasn’t my intention to overwhelm you, it’s just that I want you to be happy here and my friends are far more likeable than I am.”

Dropping the shirt he’d been working on, D’ar looked at his brother in disbelief. “No, they’re not.”

Apparently, he’d surprised Athos, because the man blinked at him before chuckling and shaking his head. “I assure you, they are.”

The stubbornness that Mrs. Duras had frequently complained about came out in D’ar. “No, they’re not.”  
He took a deep breath and continued before Athos could protest. “They’re really nice people, but Aramis, he teases a lot, like really a lot. Porthos, he’s big and he’s really loud, especially when he laughs. And Constance, she’s all huggy and she wanted me to wear pink.” 

D’ar shuddered when he said the last bit and his reaction prompted a short bark of laughter from his brother. “Well, aside from that most unfortunate color incident, you have to admit that they are far more pleasant to be around. For one thing, they all smile much more than I do.

It was odd to be in the role of defending his brother, but D’ar was not about to let it go, not after everything that Athos had already done for him. “You smile plenty.” He protested. “Not with your mouth, but with your eyes.”

Athos looked at D’ar thoughtfully. “You are a very observant boy.”

D’ar shrugged with a nonchalance that he didn’t really feel and went back to the task at hand. Another tag was found and snipped before he continued. “You have to learn to be, in foster care. They’re all smiles when the social worker is around, but you can tell when grown-ups aren’t as friendly as they pretend to be.” He looked at Athos through lowered lashes. “You don’t pretend that way and, besides, you understand.”

“I do?” Athos asked. He had also gone back to his job of checking for stickers, but he sounded curious rather than disbelieving of D’ar’s comment. “What do you mean?”

“My dad - you understood why I’d want to honor him, even though your dad is supposed to be my dad.” The first example was easy to think of and, after that, they just snowballed. “And you helped with the nightmare and didn’t make me buy a pink shirt and you knew today was too many people. . . .” 

“All right, all right, I believe you,” Athos held up a hand as if he were surrendering.

D’ar smiled smugly and went back to his task.

“I’d say it’s been a good start,” Athos sounded pleased when he said it. “We’ve made progress today. We have determined that I am just as nice as my friends and, in fact, that I smile more than most people notice. We’ve also discovered that you are an observant boy, who despite never having had a sibling before, has the protective instincts of one down in spades.”

“I do?” D’ar was happy when his voice didn’t squeak.

Athos nodded. “You do. It’s very brother-like to not let anyone speak ill of your sibling – even if he’s talking about himself.”

D’ar thought about it for a moment and nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Athos nodded and the two of them smiled at each other.

“I do believe that we’re done de-tagging everything,” Athos stated. “You’ll need to hold out a few things to wear while Jack works on the rest and then we should probably wash the underthings. I’ll show you where the machines are.”

They repacked the clothes into the bags since they needed the hamper for D’ar’s new underwear, socks and pajamas. Athos showed him where the washing machine and dryer were, in a small room at the back of the apartment, just across from where a guest bathroom was. D’ar was able to demonstrate to his brother that he knew how to work the machines and smiled in accomplishment.

“I can see you’re more than capable of keeping up with your own laundry,” Athos said with satisfaction. “Far better than me, actually, since I get my work clothing professionally laundered. I’m not sure that will be necessary for your school things.”

“I can do your washing too, if you want,” D’ar offered.

Athos shook his head. “What did we talk about this morning? You’re not a servant, D’ar.”

“I just want to help you, the way you help me,” D’ar explained, not willing to let it drop.

“You do and you will,” Athos said. “We’ll get the list of chores and responsibilities hashed out eventually, but you’re my brother, not my valet.”

D’ar didn’t protest any more, but he made a silent vow to look for ways to make Athos’ life easier. It was the least he could do, since his brother was giving him a home and being so nice.

“Now, it’s been a long day, but it’s only eight o’clock. You can go to bed if you like, but it’s fine with me if you want to stay up a while longer.” Athos said. “I do have something to give you and I’d better do it now before I forget.”

Athos led D’ar to the main living area. On the breakfast bar that connected the kitchen to the living room was a tablet and a couple of smaller objects. Athos grabbed them before presenting them to D’ar.

“We sometimes have to make sketches in the field and have a pile of these downstairs.” Athos explained. “I grabbed one and some pencils for you while Porthos was helping you set up your laptop. It’s not the best quality, but will be more suitable than your notebook.”

D’ar took the tablet from Athos and flipped it open. It held pages and pages of clean white paper, just waiting to be filled. There wasn’t a line to be seen. Not only was that, but the paper itself was thicker than what he was used to doodling on.

“Thanks,” D’ar said enthusiastically. He didn’t feel sleepy anymore. Instead, his fingers itched to sketch something.

“You’re welcome,” Athos said. “I’ve some work to do, but you’re welcome to watch television if you want to. Or there’s the new laptop.”

“This is fine, thanks.” D’ar held up the tablet. He briefly considered going to his room, but decided it would be nice to have company.

While Athos settled in with his own laptop at the kitchen table, D’ar stretched out on the couch, his new art tablet on his lap. He was tempted, very tempted, to sketch Athos, but decided he didn’t quite have the nerve to do that yet. From what he could tell, Athos wouldn’t mind, but then again, Athos’ friends had seemed surprised that his brother had been so easily convinced about D’ar taking a picture of him. It would be best not to go that far just yet.

Instead of what he really wanted to draw, D’ar instead sketched what he remembered from the horse wall sculpture from the furniture. He’d been amazed how the metal had been shaped to so accurately depict the power that a running horse had. D’ar would draw a few lines and then close his eyes to better remember what it had looked like. That worked for a while, but it started to get harder and harder to open his eyes again. . . .

“D’ar?” Someone was gently shaking D’ar’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

It took a moment for D’ar’s fuzzy brain to place the voice. It wasn’t just someone shaking his shoulder, but his brother. His eyes popped open and he started to sit up, but a hand on his chest kept him from thrashing around.

“Easy, sorry to startle you.” Athos told him. “I just thought you might be more comfortable going to bed.”

Embarrassed at falling asleep on the couch like a little kid, D’ar smiled sheepishly at his brother. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

D’ar gathered up his tablet and pencil. He’d barely started the sketch before drifting off; maybe he’d have a chance to finish it the next day. Athos offered him a hand up from the couch, which D’ar appreciated. 

Athos patted him on the shoulder. “Well, I guess this is good night.”

“Yeah,” D’ar took a deep breath and, before he could lose his nerve, stepped closer to Athos and hugged him. “Good night.”

His brother’s arms came around D’ar to hug him back. “I hope you sleep better tonight, but if not, feel free to come get me, no matter the time.”

“Okay,” D’ar replied, even as he made an internal vow not to bother Athos. He broke the hug and headed towards his bedroom. 

Just short of leaving the living room, D’ar turned to look back. His brother had gone back to the kitchen table and was about to sit down in front of his laptop again. Athos must have sensed D’ar watching him, because he looked up. 

“Is there something you need, D’ar?”

D’ar shook his head. “Not really. What I said before, I just wanted to say that all of your friends are nice. I like them.”

Athos did the smiling with his eyes thing again. “That’s good, because they like you too.”

“It’s just that I like you better,” D’ar told him, then hurried off to his bedroom before Athos could respond. 

When D’ar got to his room, he shut the door and gently locked it behind him. He liked Athos a lot, but had been without a door for so long that he couldn’t resist. The best part was, he knew that Athos would understand.

D’ar reverently placed his sketchbook on the desk. It felt weird not having to hide his drawings, but it was a good kind of weird and one that he could definitely get used to it. He looked from his bathroom to the dresser, trying to decide if he wanted to take a shower or not, but as he was contemplating, another yawn overtook him. That decided it.

After making quick work brushing his teeth, D’ar changed into the hated too-small pajamas, reassured that he’d be wearing them for the last time. Then he shut off the lights and climbed into bed. He hoped there’d be no more nightmares, but if there were, it was nice that he wouldn’t have to deal with them alone. Not that D’ar would necessarily go wake Athos up for something as measly as a dream, but the option was there and that made all of the difference.

And with that thought, D’ar fell asleep, not be bothered by bad dreams at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience. I think the first few days that D'ar is with Athos are important, but after the next chapter, I expect things to start moving along a little more quickly.


	9. Chapter 9

Athos had set the alarm on his phone, but was actually awake before it went off. He lay in bed for a moment, listening, but he didn’t hear anything that would indicate that D’ar was up and about. Then again, the boy was so quiet, that Athos wasn’t sure that he would.

With that thought in mind, he threw the covers to the side and got out of bed, walking to his bedroom door and opening it as silently as he could. The door to D’ar’s room was closed, a pretty good indication that his brother was still sleeping. Relieved that there wouldn’t be a repeat of the day before, Athos just as quietly closed the door and went about getting ready for the day.

Athos knew he’d made a mistake crowding his first full day with D’ar with too many people and too much activity. Still, he couldn’t say that he regretted it overmuch, not since it had led to a declaration from his brother that he liked Athos more than he did Athos’ friends. Just remembering what D’ar had said made Athos smile with a sweetness that not many people who’d known him only after Thomas’ death had ever had the fortune to see.

He had a cadre of friends, of course, but Athos usually was not the one that people were drawn to. Aramis was the suave charmer and, unless he was given ample reason not to be, Porthos was friendly to a fault. It was Athos who was usually in the background, slow to warm up to people and even slower to give them a reason to like him. That was fine by him; he was willing to bask in his friends’ glow. He’d assumed that Aramis and Porthos’ warmer personalities would put D’ar at ease far more than his own restrained nature would, just as had happened so many times before. 

Being wrong had never felt so good before.

D’ar himself was something of a wonder. The boy had been so tentative yesterday morning that Athos wondered if his original assessment that D’ar wasn’t broken had been wrong. As the day went on, however, and D’ar grew more comfortable with them all, glimmers of what must be his real personality started to appear. D’ar was observant, although a child of his age shouldn’t have to be so wary and careful in his assessment of the adults around him. With all he’d been through, it amazed Athos that his little brother had actually defended him and claimed that Athos was likeable. Athos could see the way that D’ar avidly listened to all their stories; he only hoped that as his brother grew even more comfortable with them that D’ar would start telling some of his own – and that Athos himself would be strong enough to hear them.

His shower and other ablutions quickly taken care of, Athos took a moment to straighten his bed and stop by the laundry room before he walked to his brother’s door. He knocked quietly, needing to wake the boy, but not wanting to startle him too badly. “D’ar?”

It didn’t take very long to get an answer. “Yeah?”

“Time to get up, we’re supposed to meet Jack in about an hour.” Athos told him.

There was a faint rustling noise and then the sound of the lock turning. D’ar peered out of the door at him, his hair rumpled and a concerned look on his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to oversleep.”

Having determined how observant his brother was, Athos bit back a sigh. He didn’t want D’ar thinking that he was in trouble. “It’s not oversleeping if I never told you what time to get up – or showed you how to set the alarm on your phone.”

D’ar relaxed a little. “Oh, okay.”

“Do you like eggs?” Athos asked. D’ar nodded. “Scrambled?”

“Sure,” D’ar yawned. “Sorry.”'

“Again, no need,” Athos handed D’ar the hamper that he’d retrieved. It held D’ar’s new and freshly laundered underwear and pajamas. “Here, you’ll need these for when you get dressed.”

“Thanks,” D’ar’s shoulders had been slumped, but he straightened them as he looked Athos right in the eye. “I’ll take care of them myself next time.”

“I’m sure you will,” Athos reassured him. “Breakfast will be ready in about 20 minutes.”

D’ar nodded. “I’ll be ready.”

Athos headed into the kitchen and immediately started the coffee. Given how determined his little brother had already shown himself to be about not being a burden, he had a feeling that he had less than ten minutes before the boy showed up. Sure enough, by the time Athos had gathered the necessary items to make breakfast, D’ar was in the kitchen. His hair was still wet, but he was in clean clothes and looked fully awake.

“What can I do?” D’ar asked.

“Toast,” Athos decided, not sure how familiar the youngster was with cooking, but not wanting to deny him the chance to assist. “Two pieces for me and however many you want.”

The bread was already on the counter, so D’ar didn’t need to look for it. As he got the eggs out of the refrigerator, Athos started a mental shopping list. They were already low on bread and milk and, after breakfast was over, he could probably add eggs to the list. It wasn’t so much that D’ar ate a lot, but that Athos wasn’t used to eating home much at all. It was going to take some getting used to.

With two of them working on it, breakfast was done in a matter of minutes. The table had both of their laptops on it, so they ate at the breakfast bar, Athos with his coffee and D’ar with his milk. It was quiet except for the clinking sound of utensils against plates for several minutes.

“We’re going to my school today?” D’ar finally asked, sounding a little apprehensive.

“Yes, but we won’t be there long,” Athos told him. “I need to drop off documents indicating that you’re in my care and you need to pick up your homework assignments.”

D’ar looked far from thrilled and Athos didn’t really blame him.

“Before that, however, we’re going over the Bonacieux’ house, where Jack’s studio is located,” Athos continued. “He’ll need to do some measurements so that he can alter your clothing correctly.”

“More trying on of clothes?” D’ar guessed.

“Yes, more trying on of clothes,” Athos confirmed. “But you won’t be asked to make any decisions about which pieces to buy, so it should be a little smoother than yesterday.”

That seemed to cheer D’ar up. “No pink shirts?”

“Precisely,” Athos said.

It didn’t take either of them long to eat and in record time, the dishwasher was loaded. After that, Athos gave D’ar a quick tutorial on how to use the alarm function on his new phone, but the boy didn’t look entirely convinced that it was sufficient.

“Would it make you more comfortable if we got you a traditional alarm as well?” Athos asked. “Maybe a clock radio of some sort?”

D’ar relaxed. “Yeah, just in case.”

“All right, that’s what we’ll do,” Athos promised. “Add it to the list. Now, I think it will take both of us to carry all of the bags.”

Even though they’d removed the items that didn’t need altering, plus some things held back so D’ar would have decent clothes to wear while Jack worked on the rest, there was still plenty for them to carry down to Athos’ SUV. They paused for a moment so Athos could show D’ar how to use the security system and they practiced until the boy was comfortable with it. It didn’t take long and D’ar was quick to memorize the passcode. As Athos had already observed, his brother was smart.

There was no need to stop in the office since Athos had already been in touch with his team via text. He noticed that D’ar looked a little surprised when Athos just walked by the door, but he didn’t say anything. Soon they had the SUV loaded and were on the road.

“I take it you slept well?” Athos berated himself for not asking earlier.

“Yeah, no dreams at all last night,” D’ar’s answer was quick and cheerful, assuring Athos that the boy wasn’t just putting a good spin on a bad night.

“Good, that’s good.”

The two brothers lapsed into silence, but since it was a comfortable one instead of tense, Athos didn’t try to fill it. Constance, as well as Porthos and Aramis, lived relatively close by anyway. His friends drove to the office instead of using public transportation mostly because the nature of their work meant they might need to drive elsewhere later in the day. D’ar looked around with interest as they drove, with Athos pointing out the occasional landmark.

It didn’t take too long before they were in a more residential neighborhood and Athos pulled up to the Bonacieux brownstone. “We have arrived.”

“I thought you said we were going to Jack’s studio?” D’ar frowned up at the building after he got out of the SUV.

“We are; it’s on the second floor.”

Athos, of course, was familiar with the set-up. Like many brownstones, the building had a steep outer staircase that led up to the second level, which Constance and Jack had converted into Jack’s studio. The lower level had originally been a mother-in-law’s apartment, but was now where the kitchen and Jack’s bedroom were located. The third floor was all Constance’s. D’ar didn’t need all of those details, however, and so Athos didn’t elaborate. 

Jack saw them coming and had the door open by the time they reached the top of the stairs. Once inside, D’ar put his bags down with a sigh of relief.

“Thank you again, Jack, for doing this,” Athos said as a way of a greeting.

“It’s my pleasure, truly,” Jack’s smile was somewhat stiff, but then, it almost always was. If anything, Constance’s husband was even more awkward socially than Athos. Of course, Athos wasn’t truly inept at social situations; most of the time, he simply didn’t care. “Let’s see what you’ve brought me to work with.”

Far from complaining about them dumping too much on him, Jack hummed appreciatively as he peered into each bag. “Yes, this is a good start.”

“Start?” D’ar gulped as he shot a worried glance at Athos. “You mean we’re going to have to buy more?”

“Easy, D’ar,” Athos put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I doubt we’ll need to buy for a whole season in one fell swoop again, although I can’t guarantee there won’t be any more marathon shopping trips.”

“Not fond of shopping, are you?” Jack chuckled. “I wasn’t at your age, either. Now, let’s separate it all out by category.”

What would normally have been a living room was set up as a salon. The main area was relatively clear, with just a raised dais and a wall of mirrors. Off to the side, however there was a small couch and chair where a client could wait, as well as a couple of rolling-style clothing racks. The latter were currently empty of everything but some hangers.

Jack led them to the racks and started them on hanging up the clothing they’d brought. He not only wanted it separated by category of clothing, pants and shirts, but by subcategory where the shirts were concerned, keeping the knits separate from the woven.

“This is a nice color range for you,” Jack said after they were finished.

“You’re not disappointed that there’s no pink?” D’ar asked, his tone somewhat apprehensive.

Jack frowned. “No, why would I be?”

D’ar didn’t look eager to elaborate, so Athos did it for him.

“Your lovely wife was rather insistent about a shirt in that color,” Athos explained. “Including using you as an example.”

“I’m a grown man and not a boy in middle school. I’m not sure how enlightened about color children that age would be and they can be cruel too.” Jack scoffed. He turned to D’ar. “And good for you on standing your ground. Constance can be a force to be reckoned with when she wants to be.”

“Athos made her stop trying to talk me into it,” D’ar explained. The look his little brother shot his way made Athos feel like he was a hundred feet tall and able to leap giant buildings in a single bound.

“It’s what older brothers do,” Athos tried to shrug off the praise.

“It’s what good older brothers do,” Jack corrected him, but thankfully got down to business before Athos could become even more embarrassed. “Now, D’ar I see you’re wearing some of the new clothing items? Splendid. Please hop up on the platform if you will.”

D’ar did as instructed, even if he seemed a little unsure. Jack, however, surprised Athos by chatting with D’ar, putting the boy at ease. Obviously, Jack was in his element and less awkward than Athos had ever seen him. As Jack took measurements, he told D’ar what he was doing and why, then he had the boy change into a different outfit and started pinning.

“How did you get interested in sewing?” D’ar asked. He stood very still so that he didn’t get stuck.

Jack took a pin out of his mouth before answering. “I was raised by my grandmother and she didn’t have a lot of money to spend. We did our shopping at thrift stores and she’d alter what we bought to fit. When I got old enough, I started to help and soon I was better at it than she was.”

D’ar frowned. “Did your parents die too?”

“It was a little more complicated than that, but yes,” Jack answered. “That’s why when I heard what Athos was doing for you, I told Constance that I wanted to help.”

“I’m sorry,” D’ar reached out and patted Jack on the shoulder. “About your parents, I mean. That’s hard.”

Jack blinked at him, clearly touched. Athos was too. D’ar had been through a lot and yet his comment showed that he had retained a caring nature. Not all children would try to comfort an adult who’d been through a similar experience.

“Thank you,” Jack said, after clearing his throat. “It was a long time ago.”

“I can’t imagine a time I won’t be sad about my mom and dad,” D’ar said mournfully. Athos had been leaning against a nearby wall, but when he heard his brother’s tone of voice, he started to move closer in order to comfort him.

Jack, however, beat him to it.

“I know it seems impossible now, but it will get better,” Jack assured the boy. “There will always be some sadness, but eventually the good memories that you have will help ease that a little.”

D’ar didn’t look like he believed the man, but gave him a tiny smile anyway. “Thanks. And thanks for fixing my clothes so they look better too.”

Athos sagged back against the wall, amazed. He’d known Jack Bonacieux for years, but learned more about him the last five minutes than he had in all that time. He’d agreed to Jack’s offer to look after D’ar out of convenience, but it had never occurred to him that the man was good with children. Or maybe it was just his similar background that helped Jack be at ease with D’ar. Whatever the reason, Athos wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The rest of the fitting went well, especially since D’ar was relieved that he only had to try on a few of the shirts and only one other pair of pants. Once they’d found the jeans that had fit him the best, ‘best’ being a relative term, Athos had bought multiple pairs. It was unfortunate that D’ar wouldn’t have many styles to choose from, but the boy was so thrilled to have clothing that was new that he didn’t care and it certainly made things easier for alterations.

A little more than an hour after they’d arrived, Athos and D’ar were ready to be on their way.

“I should have these done by the end of the weekend,” Jack told them as he walked them to the door.

“That fast?” Athos was surprised and hoped that Constance’s husband wasn’t losing paying work because of the favor he was doing them.

Jack chuckled. “The alterations aren’t that difficult, especially since I understand that you’ll be working with D’ar so he puts on some weight? I’ll basically be doing some strategic tucks so that they can be let out again if needed.”

Athos shook Jack’s hand, an action that clearly startled the other man. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Yeah, thanks,” D’ar chimed in, offering his own hand to shake. Athos was unreasonably pleased that the boy didn’t move to hug Jack; he’d cherished the hugs he’d gotten from his brother and wasn’t quite ready to share them just yet.

The two brothers left the brownstone and walked down to the SUV. D’ar was again quiet as they headed out, but this time the silence felt pensive instead of comfortable.

“D’ar, are you all right?”

D’ar had been looking out the window, but he turned towards his brother to answer the question. “Yeah. I was just thinking. In Lupiac, I didn’t know any foster kids or kids being living with someone other than their parents, but now I’ve met grown-ups who’ve been both.”

Athos didn’t have the heart to tell D’ar that, as a younger child, he may very well have known some orphans or foster children and just not been aware of it.

“The city is much larger than Lupiac,” Athos pointed out. “The people who live here are from all walks of life. It’s not surprising that you’ve met some who have a similar background to you.”

D’ar tilted his head while he obviously thought about that for a moment. “I suppose.” He smiled. “But Porthos was a foster kid and he grew up all right and Jack had his grandmother and he grew up all right too.” He looked shyly at Athos. “And I have you.”

“Yes,” Athos smiled back. “Now you have me.”

Neither of them were ready for a deeper conversation and so the discussion turned to lighter things. Athos discovered that, like him, D’ar enjoyed most sports, but thought that golf was boring. While D’ar enjoyed drawing, Athos was appalled to learn that the boy hadn’t been to any of the many museums in New York, something which he vowed to change as soon as possible. They didn’t really have a common ground where music was concerned, with Athos recognizing none of the artists that D’ar listed and D’ar being equally ignorant of classical music.

They talked about a wide variety of things, but one subject that made D’ar uncomfortable was that of school. It took about an hour to make the drive to the one that D’ar attended and Athos noticed that the closer they got, the quieter his brother became. It was when D’ar started to slink down in his chair that Athos figured out why – and mentally cursed himself for being an idiot.

“D’ar, the route I’ve chosen to get to your school won’t take us anywhere near the Duras house,” Athos promised him. “You won’t be seeing them today.”

Even Athos saying the name of his former foster parents made D’ar flinch. “What if we see them drive past us or something?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Duras no longer have any foster children,” Athos pointed out. Privately, he thought if it were up to Mrs. Royalton, the Durases never would have foster children again. “They have no reason to be at the school and, besides, the windows of the SUV are tinted. Even if we see them on the road, they won’t see us.”

“Okay.” D’ar didn’t sound convinced, but he did straighten a little in his seat.

“And if the impossible takes place and they happen to be at the school,” Athos went on to promise him. “I’ll be with you. In fact, for my own selfish purposes, I almost wish they would be there.”

Although Athos’ eyes were on the road, he could see the movement of D’ar’s head out of the corner of his eye and knew his brother was looking at him, probably in disbelief.

“You do?” The boy squeaked. Yes, there was definite disbelief in his voice. “Why?”

“Because there’s a thing or two I’d like to say to them about how they treated you.” Athos had to make a conscious effort to make his fingers relax their grip the steering wheel. “But that can wait for a more appropriate time.”

He glanced at D’ar and saw his brother was chewing on his lower lip. “Mrs. Royalton said Mr. and Mrs. Duras were in trouble.”

Athos nodded. “That’s what I was told too – and they should be. It was not right of them to limit your food so much or to deny you basic privacy. It was especially wrong of them to bring a dangerous adult into the environment you were living in.”

“Shouldn’t family stick together, though?” D’ar asked.

“Absolutely,” Athos replied quickly and firmly. He had a feeling that D’ar might be really asking about his own situation and not that of Emily Duras. Athos wanted his brother to know that he didn’t regret his decision to seek custody of D’ar for a single second. “The issue is that the Durases had accepted responsibility for you and your foster sisters. I have no fault with them wanting to help their daughter, but they should have notified the state that you needed a new placement.”  
“Oh, okay.” D’ar was more relaxed in his seat. “What will happen to the Durases?”

“I don’t know,” Athos shrugged. “That will be for the court decide.”

D’ar giggled. “I would love to see Judge Freddy talking to Mrs. Duras.”

Athos chuckled along with him. “My money would be on Judge Freddy.”

“Yeah, for sure,” D’ar agreed.

Athos was happy that by the time they pulled into the guest parking at the school, D’ar seemed to be in a better frame of mind. It helped that the boy clearly didn’t see any evidence of his former foster parents. As for the school itself, Athos could only hope it was more impressive on the inside than it was the outside. It looked to have existed for decades longer than Athos had been alive and also appeared to have seen hard use. If Athos had to give the exterior a grade, it would be far from an A.

School was already in session by the time they arrived, so the schoolyard was almost eerily silent. With D’ar leading the way, the two brothers went through the entrance. The first thing that Athos noticed was that the inside of the school was no better than the outside. He’d give it a D – for dingy, dark and depressing. The second thing he noticed was that there was a podium-style desk right inside the entrance, staffed with a uniformed security guard.

The guard was intently focused on something that Athos couldn’t see, although by the man’s posture, Athos guessed it was a tablet or something similar. The man didn’t react when Athos and D’ar walked in and Athos looked at his brother, eyebrows raised. D’ar just shrugged, although by the expression on his face, Athos doubted that the security guard was someone that his brother liked.

A part of Athos was glad that the security was present, although another part of him was sad for the necessity. No part of Athos, however, was impressed at the guard’s effectiveness.

“Excuse me?” Athos approached the desk reluctantly. It stood to reason that if the security existed, then he should honor it, even as unserviceable as it was at first glance. “Is there a procedure I need to follow to enter the school?”

The guard looked up and Athos idly noticed that it had been a tablet that the man had been so involved with. Athos could have forgiven that had the guard been using it to watch security cameras or the like, but even though he couldn’t see the screen clearly, Athos could tell from the bright colors on it that the guard had likely been playing a game.

“I’ll need your ID and the nature of your business,” the guard barked even as he put the tablet aside. The man managed to sound bored and annoyed at the same time.

“Certainly,” Athos answered, with more equanimity than he actually felt. He wanted to set a good example for D’ar. He dug out his driver’s license and handed it over. “We’re here for me to register with the school as my brother’s guardian and also to pick up his homework.”

The guard eyed Athos with suspicion even as he fingered Athos’ ID. “You don’t look like his brother.”

“A half dozen DNA tests say differently,” Athos put his hand on D’ar’s shoulder. He normally would have rebuked the guard for his question, but wanted the boy to know that he didn’t doubt their status as brothers in the least. Athos spared a glance at the guard’s name tag. This was an individual that Athos wanted to remember, although once he read it, Athos realized that the name was already familiar. Athos knew he’d heard it before, but couldn’t put his finger on where. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Mr. Renard, we are expected.”

“Fine,” the guard thrust Athos’ driver’s license back at him. “Go straight to the office, it’s just down the hall, last door on the right. I’ll be watching you.”

Athos gave the man a smile as bright as it was false; a strategy he'd learned from Aramis. “I feel safer already, thank you so very much.”

D’ar sniggered as they walked away and Athos was glad to hear the sound. He’d been worried that the guard’s comment about them not looking alike would be bothering the boy.

“Is he always so unpleasant?” Athos asked.

“Renard’s a toad,” D’ar immediately answered. “But his dad’s the principal, so he gets by with it.”

Ah. That was where Athos had heard the name before. He’d been given the principal’s name in reference to submitting the documentation showing that he was currently D’ar’s guardian. He only hoped that the father was more pleasant than the son.

They reached the office and D’ar opened the door to enter. Athos looked back as he followed his brother in and, no, the security guard was not watching them. The man had already gone back to his game.

The office was at least lit better than the lobby had been. It had a long, counter staffed by a young woman. Behind her, Athos could see that the space deepened into separate, smaller offices. Presumably that was where the school administrators were located.

“Can I help you?”

Athos’ attention was brought to the woman who addressed him. “Yes, my name is Olivier Athos and I’m here to register with the school as my brother’s legal guardian.”

She took the papers from him without so much as glancing at D’ar. “And your brother’s name is?”

“Charles Castlemore,” Athos answered, glancing apologetically at his brother. It already felt wrong to call the boy Charles. D’ar just shrugged.

The woman typed rapidly into the computer and nodded at what she read. What Athos told her must have been verified. “Do you need these back or can we keep them?”

“No, I brought them for the school,” Athos said. He had multiple copies of the court papers. Since D’ar seemed reluctant to speak up for himself, Athos broached the next topic. “I believe my brother needs to pick up the homework assignments he missed.”

“Right.” The administrator turned to a filing cabinet located behind the counter. On it was a wire basket and she dug through it for a minute. “Castlemore, here you go.”

D’ar took the sheet she gave him with a little sigh. “Thanks.” He read it over with a frown. “I need to get some stuff from my locker.”

Athos nodded. “All right, let’s go.”

“Not you, Mr. Athos,” the woman was a slightly better security guard than the man at the door. She smiled at him apologetically, the first real emotion she’d shown. “We don’t like for adults who aren’t staff members to roam around the school. I’ll write Charles a hall pass and you can wait here.”

She did as promised and handed it to D’ar with a warning not to run.

“My locker’s on the other side of the school,” D’ar told Athos. “It’ll be a couple of minutes.”

“I’ll be right here,” Athos promised. “It’ll give me a chance to catch up on any text messages.”

It gave Athos a pang to have to stay behind as D’ar left the office. He knew it was an illogical reaction, as D’ar had been attending the school for months without any issues. Still, he didn’t want the boy out of his sight and Athos knew that was something he was going to have to work on. D’ar wasn’t a toddler and while protecting him was Athos’ privilege and responsibility, smothering him was not a good idea.

There were some plastic chairs in the office that rivaled those of hospital waiting rooms in terms of lack of comfort. Athos sat anyway and pulled out his phone. There was a number of text messages from his friends, all related to work. None of them were of an urgent nature and Athos figured that it was just their way of checking up on him.

Athos answered each text and then sent one to his three colleagues as a group, assuring him that D’ar was fine and that, yes, Athos had remembered to feed him. Before the others could respond, D’ar returned to the office. He was breathing hard, so even if he’d remembered the admonishment not to run, obviously he’d walked the halls very quickly.

“That was fast,” Athos said blandly. “I suppose I don’t blame you, if I had the day off of school, it’s the last place I’d want to be too.”

D’ar’s smile was sheepish. “I wanted to get back before class change.”

“Good idea,” Athos praised him. He didn’t relish the idea of being caught in a flood of kids rushing to get to their next class on time. “Let’s go.”

With a nod to the woman behind the counter, the two of them left the office. Despite Athos’ desire to make a quick exit, however, he came to a full stop after they’d only gone a few steps. Something had changed in the relatively short time they’d been in the office and that change had to do with smell.

“What is that?” Athos asked.

D’ar frowned at him. “What’s what?”

“That odor,” Athos clarified. “It didn’t smell that way when we walked in.”

His brother sniffed a few times before giving Athos a perplexed look. “That’s lunch. The cafeteria starts serving in a little bit.”

“That’s a food smell?” Athos asked, appalled.

D’ar nodded. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Sloppy Joes, I think.”

“Slop being the key word,” Athos started walking towards the door at a fast clip. D’ar had to rush to keep up with him. “You actually ate that?”

“Yeah,” D’ar said.

Athos barely spared a glance for the odious security guard as they exited. Once outside, he took a deep breath. “D’ar, I was in the Army for years. I’ve eaten in mess halls in more countries than I can name, not to mention surviving on MREs for weeks at a time, and I’ve never been served food that smelled as bad as that just did.”

D’ar looked away. “Mrs. Duras counted on us eating a big lunch.”

Just like that, Athos felt like an ass. He remembered telling D’ar that his mother had been a food snob, obviously she’d passed some of that prejudice on to Athos.

“Do you want to start bringing your lunch?” Athos asked. “Surely we can find something for you to bring that’s somewhat more appealing.”

“Okay,” D’ar said. “But can I still buy lunch on pizza day? I like pizza.”

“If you wish,” Athos readily agreed. “On the positive side, if you tolerate the school lunches, then it’s unlikely that my cooking will kill you.”

His joke, feeble as it was, got D’ar to smile. “It’s probably not that bad.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Athos deadpanned. “Remember that I said that my cooking was ‘unlikely’ to kill you, not a promise that it wouldn’t.”

Although D’ar seemed far more at ease, Athos still wanted to get out of the neighborhood before they did anything else. He had a surprise for his brother in the afternoon, but they had a couple of hours to kill. Since it was getting close to lunchtime and D’ar had mentioned pizza, Athos took the boy to a pizzeria that was far enough away from the school for D’ar’s comfort, but still somewhat handy to where they’d be going later. Once they’d ordered, Athos took out his phone to check his messages again and D’ar mirrored the action. Athos hadn’t expected his brother to have received any texts, but to his surprise, D’ar started giggling.

“What?” Athos asked him.

“They sent me pictures,” D’ar held out his phone to show Athos. “Aramis wants me to see that he’s not wearing a pink shirt and Porthos told me to tell you that they’re really busy.”

Athos looked at the pictures. Aramis’ photo was a selfie and the other man was pointing to his navy blue shirt and grinning like a fool. Porthos’ picture, on the other hand, had clearly been taken by someone else and had just as clearly been staged. The big man was leaning back in his chair, feet on his desk and feigning sleep. A suspiciously feminine hand held up a piece of paper with a thought bubble on it that was filled in to say “Zzzzzz.”

“I know that it’s hard to tell from this,” Athos’ lips twitched as he handed the phone back to D’ar. “But they can be quite productive when they want to be.”

“I think they’re funny,” D’ar said, looking at the photos again before putting the phone away. 

“Ah, but not as funny as they think they are,” Athos corrected him.

When their pizza arrived, Athos and D’ar both immediately grabbed for a slice. Athos was somewhat surprised to see how his brother was eating it.

“You’ve lived in the city for three years and you haven’t learned to eat pizza correctly?” Athos said to his younger brother.

D’ar put his slice down. “I haven’t?”

Since he was mostly teasing, Athos was very pleased that D’ar looked mostly curious and didn’t apologize. It was progress.

“No, you have not,” Athos kept a straight face as he folded his slice in half. “A true New Yorker is always in a hurry, so pizza must be folded in half in order to be more convenient to eat on the run.”

He demonstrated, taking a big bite.

D’ar’s face cleared as he made a realization. “Oh, that’s why pieces here are always cut so wide.”

“It’s not a piece, it’s a slice,” Athos corrected, once he’d swallowed.

“Slice,” D’ar repeated. He grinned as he folded his own slice and took a big bite. “Mmm – good.”

Athos could have wished that the boy wasn’t talking with food in his mouth, but it was far too soon for that kind of correction. He was just lucky that the whole eating-the-pizza-wrong conversation hadn’t sent D’ar into a tailspin about being sent away for doing something incorrectly.

The pizzeria had a casual atmosphere, including televisions showing various sporting events. Athos used that to broach a subject. “Have you decided if you want to play soccer tomorrow?” 

“You wouldn’t mind?” D’ar asked, looking up at Athos through his lashes.

Athos shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t mind at all. As much as you profess to be enjoying our company, I imagine you would enjoy spending time with those your own age.”

D’ar smiled shyly. “Then, yeah, I think I’d like to go.”

The conversation turned to what position D’ar preferred to play and soccer tactics. The conversation remained light and soon the pizza was gone. Athos looked at his watch and realized that they had a little more time to kill.

“How’s the shopping list?” Athos asked his brother. “Shall we take care of that now?”

“Sure,” D’ar didn’t appear overly stressed about the prospect of more shopping, but then there were only a few things on that they needed to pick up.

Athos found a big box retailer and, with just the two of them, it didn’t take long to locate what they needed, even once the list expanded to include a second pair of athletic shoes. Athos expected more resistance from D’ar on that purchase, but all it took was a comment that if he played soccer in the shoes Mrs. Royalton purchased that they would get dirty. Not only did D’ar acquiesce to that idea, but as they approached the check-out area, however, D’ar surprised Athos by actually voicing a desire.

“Would it be okay if I got some colored pencils?” D’ar asked as they walked by the school and office supplies.

“Certainly.” At that point, Athos would have bought D’ar several truckloads of pencils if the boy wanted, he was so relieved to hear D’ar being comfortable asking for something.

It took longer for D’ar to pick out the pencils than it had all the other things on the list combined. Athos didn’t begrudge the time and was content to wait. Finally, however, the choice was made. Unlike the other items, however, D’ar insisted on carrying the pencils himself rather than putting them in the cart.

“I want to pay for these,” D’ar stated. The boy looked somewhat defiant as he made his declaration. “I have the money that I got from Aramis, Porthos and Constance.”

Athos opened his mouth to protest, but took a better look into his brother’s eyes and immediately shut it again. D’ar’s request had to do with pride, not just a misguided feeling of being a burden, and pride was something Athos could relate to all too well. D’ar’s had been squashed for far too long and Athos wasn’t going to needlessly do the same.

“All right,” he agreed and was rewarded with a smile from his brother.

Paying for their purchases didn’t take too long and Athos was glad to see that buying the colored pencils didn’t eat up all of D’ar’s cash. The boy stashed the change in his pocket with the care of someone who wasn’t used to having a lot of money. Athos hadn’t reminded D’ar that he’d eventually need a pencil sharpener. If Athos’ memory served him correctly, there was an old battery-powered one in the office’s storage closet.

“What now?” D’ar asked after they’d stowed most of the purchases in the back of the SUV. Athos had suggested that D’ar keep the pencils in the front so that they didn’t get broken.

Athos looked at his watch and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Finally, it was time for them to head out to the most important destination of the day.

“Now we have one more stop to make,” Athos told him as they both got into the SUV and buckled up. “We have to go to Manhattan.”

“Do I have to go meet that counselor you told me about?” D’ar asked, looking uncertain again.

His question confused Athos for a moment, but then he remembered telling the boy about the court-mandated counseling sessions. “No. I did set up an appointment for you, but that’s not today.”

“Oh,” D’ar’s voice was very small.

“It’s for Thursday afternoon, which means you’ll get to leave school early.” Athos explained. “Think you can handle that?”

“Yeah, I think so.” D’ar brightened up at the news, although Athos wasn’t sure if it was because the appointment was a whole week away or because he’d get more time out of school. “So if we’re not going to the counselor now, where are we going?”

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” Athos teased, holding back a smile.

There was no answer and, when they pulled up to a stop sign, Athos looked at his brother. D’ar was staring straight ahead and there was a tense look on his face.

“D’ar?” Athos asked quietly. “Are you all right?”

His brother shrugged. “It’s just that since my dad died, surprises haven’t always meant good things for me.”

A wave of anger rose in Athos, but he ruthlessly tamped it down. A child shouldn’t have to be so wary of a surprise, but it would do D’ar no good to see his older brother upset.

“It seems to me, then, that you are overdue for a surprise of the pleasant variety.” Athos simply said. “After you find out what it is, you’ll have to let me know if it was a good one or not.”

The brothers were relatively quiet as Athos navigated their way towards Manhattan. Once there, he lucked out with a good parking spot near their destination. He turned off the SUV and looked at D’ar in anticipation.

Despite his earlier trepidation, D’ar was looking around with interest. Apparently his curiosity had outpaced his feeling of dread and Athos felt victorious. He wanted his brother to feel like a child again and if it meant springing happy surprises on him at every opportunity, then Athos would seek out chances to do that as often as he could.

Athos waited while D’ar tried to figure out why they were there. After a few moments, D’ar turned around, confusion clearly on his face. “You brought us to a big apartment building – are you thinking of moving?”

“No,” Athos actually chuckled as he got out of the vehicle. D’ar got out too. “People aren’t the only ones who live in this particular building.”

He didn’t explain further, much to D’ar’s visible annoyance. As they got closer to the apartment complex, which was so large that it was almost a city in its own right, they walked by a particular set of windows on the ground level of the building. Movement drew Athos’ eyes and must have for D’ar too, because the boy came to a complete halt after he got a look at what was inside.

“There are horses in there!” He exclaimed to his older brother, eyes wide with wonder. “Horses live in an apartment building?”

“These horses do,” Athos explained, putting his hand on D’ar’s shoulder and gently encouraging him to move again. “This is where the stable for the New York City mounted police is located.”

D’ar looked around in disbelief. “A stable? Here, in the middle of the city?”

“Here in the middle of the city,” Athos confirmed, feeling very satisfied at D’ar’s reaction. “It’s not normally open to the public for tours, but I happen to know someone, so we get to go inside.”

“Really?” D’ar was the most excited that Athos had yet seen; the boy was practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Let’s go!”

It took a few minutes to reach the door and have Athos’ identity verified so they could enter. Athos couldn’t help but compare the quiet competence that those who worked at the stable had, as compared to the security guard at D’ar’s school. Before long they were in the brightly lit lobby area, which smelled far less of horse than Athos would have expected.

“Do we get to see the horses now?” D’ar asked.

Athos smiled at his brother’s eagerness. “In just a minute, we need to wait for my frien-. . .”

“Athos, right on time, as always,” a short, bandy-legged man walked rapidly across the space, his hand out and ready to shake. “Good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Serge,” Athos greeted him. After shaking Serge’s hand, he turned to D’ar. “And this is the younger brother I was telling you about, D’ar Castlemore. D’ar, this is Serge Jackson.”

Serge shook D’ar’s hand with enthusiasm, but his expression became more solemn. “Good to meet you, son. Sure was sorry to hear about your dad.”

“You knew him?” D’ar looked as startled as Athos felt. When he’d asked Serge for the favor – and why – the other man hadn’t said anything about knowing D’ar’s father. Athos put his hand on D’ar’s back, offering silent support.

“Well, I’d not met him personally,” Serge admitted, looking sheepish. “But us horse folks in the area know each other or know of each other. The NYPD needs bigger animals than what the D’artagnan Farms specialized in, but I knew the quality of what they bred and how good his reputation was.”

D’ar smiled, but sadly. “Thanks.”

“Now,” Serge said brusquely, perhaps feeling guilty for the sorrow in the boy’s expression. “Your brother tells me you haven’t had a chance to be around horses much for a couple of years.”

“No, sir.”

Serge patted D’ar’s shoulder. “That’s got to be torture for someone with horses in the blood. Let’s look around and maybe you’ll feel at home.”

“Our barns weren’t anything like this, though,” D’ar ogled the stable, eyes wide. “This is really cool.”

Serge laughed. “It’s state of the art, that’s for dang sure, but rather than telling you about it, let me just show you.”  
“Yes, sir!”

Both Athos and Serge laughed at D’ar’s enthusiasm. They first stopped at a barrel and Serge had D’ar grab some apples before they headed deeper into the stable.

Athos had ridden horses while at boarding school and felt some fondness for the animals, but D’ar’s enthusiasm eclipsed his own. As they toured, the boy asked detailed questions about the floor’s soft surface, how big the exercise ring was, and the heated showers, but Serge didn’t seem to mind. The horse smell eventually became slightly stronger and Athos knew they were approaching the stalls were the horses that weren’t on duty were housed. He pulled out his phone and quickly got its camera ready.

Given how long it had been since D’ar had been around horses, Athos half-expected the boy to rush forward when he got to see the first one up close. Instead, D’ar actually quieted down and, with Serge’s okay, approached the horse in the first stall.

Although the stall looked big enough for the horse to lie down in, the animal was standing. It was a tall horse and black in color, with a white blaze on its face. D’ar walked to it slowly, speaking in a voice so soft that Athos couldn’t make out what he was saying. Athos tried not to flinch when D’ar held an apple out and the horse leaned its head over to reach the treat. Those teeth looked incredibly large so close to D’ar’s vulnerable hand. The horse was nimble as it took the apple, however, and no damage was done. Athos recovered quickly enough to snap a shot of his brother as D’ar turned to him. The boy was laughing and a look of utter joy was on his face.

The trio made their way down the line, Serge introducing D’ar to each horse that was there and explaining what their duties were, while Athos followed along and took photo after photo. D’ar lavished attention on each animal. Although Athos had some experience with horses, these were particularly large and he admitted to himself that he would have been a little intimidated by them at D’ar’s age. D’ar wasn’t and, with Serge’s permission, even slipped inside a stall to brush a big bay for a little while. 

“He’s a natural,” Serge said softly as he joined Athos in leaning against an empty stall, both of them watching the boy. “I can see that he was raised by a horseman.”

“Alexander d’Artagnan excelled at raising more than just horses,” Athos kept his voice just as quiet. “The boy adored him and is still devastated at his loss.”

Serge’s gaze hardened. “I never heard that the killer got caught.”

“He hasn’t,” Athos admitted. “I get the impression that Lupiac is a small community and the local law enforcement not well equipped to conduct a murder investigation. The Musketeers are looking into it now.”

“Good,” Serge nodded. “New York’s a big state and New York City’s a world all its own, but the horse community is pretty tight knit. I’ll see if I can find some people for you to talk to.”

Athos felt relieved. He knew he and his friends could track down leads on their own, but they were more likely to get full cooperation from people in the horse community if they were vetted by someone with Serge’s reputation. “Thank you. Not just for the offer, but for this.”

He nodded to where D’ar was still brushing the bay and holding a quiet conversation with the horse. For its part, the animal seemed to be listening, perhaps enjoying the novelty of being groomed by someone smaller than its usual caretakers.

Serge’s expression softened. “From what you explained, the kid’s had it rough. Would have been happy to help even if he hadn’t been horse people.”

Since he had his phone out in order to take pictures, it was in Athos’ hand when a text came in. Concentrating on D’ar, Athos ignored it, but then several more texts arrived in rapid succession. He looked down and saw that they were messages from his friends. When he saw what they were warning him about, Athos huffed softly.

“Trouble?” Serge asked.

“No, not really.” Athos told him. “D’ar’s social worker arrived for a surprise visit. I guess the surprise is on her, since we’re not there.”

“If she’s any good, she wouldn’t want to interrupt this anyway,” Serge nodded to where D’ar was still brushing the horse and holding a one-sided conversation with it.

Serge’s comment gave Athos an idea. He scanned through the pictures that he’d taken, deciding that the first one was his favorite by far. He quickly sent it via text to Ann Royalton, along with the message, ‘I think this will do you heart good, it did mine.’

Athos was responding to his friends’ texts when his phone vibrated with an incoming call from Ann Royalton. Serge gestured him towards a door and Athos stepped outside so as not to disturb the horses – or his brother.

“I take it you got the photo I sent,” Athos said in lieu of a greeting.

“I did, where are you?” Ann’s question was spoken in a tone of delight rather than accusation. Like Athos, the picture of a happy – no, joyous – D’ar must have been a wonder to see.

“The stable for the NYPD horses,” Athos explained. “A friend runs it and was willing to give D’ar a tour.”

There was a happy sound from the social worker. “He looks like he’s having a fabulous time.” Her voice got slightly more serious, although it still had a teasing aspect to it too. “I suppose you got word that I dropped by for a surprise inspection?”

Athos saw no need to dissemble. “Yes. Word from three different parties, in fact.”

Ann laughed. “I can see I’m going to have to work harder if I’m to sneak up on you.”

“You can ask one of the others to let you in to the apartment, if you like,” Athos suggested. He knew they’d left the place relatively clean that morning. “When he agreed to the tour, Serge told me that we’d need to leave the stable at about 3 o’clock when they start getting ready for a shift change. It’s nearly that time now, but it will still take us about an hour to get back to the apartment.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I shouldn’t be in your residence when you’re not there, even if you give permission.” There was a pause on the other end before Ann continued. “Would you mind terribly if I used your desk in the office? That way I can use my laptop to do some paperwork while I wait for you two to come back. I promise that I won’t be too disruptive of your colleagues.”

“They won’t mind at all,” Athos said wryly. He knew that one, in particular, would enjoy having the pretty woman there.  
“It’s just that I’d love to see Char-,” Ann broke off with a frustrated sigh. “I mean, D’ar. I would love to see D’ar while he’s so happy.”

“Trust me, I understand.” Athos reassured her. “We’ll be there as soon as safely possible.”

After he’d finished his call with social worker, Athos texted his friends to tell them that she would be waiting for him in the office. He then sent a separate email to Aramis, reminding him to behave. After that, Athos went back into the stable. D’ar had left the stall and was chatting with Serge. Or, rather, Serge was talking and D’ar was soaking up every word.

“There you are,” Serge greeted Athos when he joined him. “I was just telling your brother here what all we do to get the horses ready for their shift.”

“And I know that will be happening soon, so we need to be mindful of your time,” Athos said. “D’ar, I believe it’s time to go.”

He could tell from the look on his brother’s face that D’ar would far rather stay, but the boy didn’t protest. “Thanks, Mr. Jackson, this has been awesome.”

“My friends call me Serge,” the man told him. “And you’re welcome. Anytime you want to come back, you just have your brother call me, you hear?”

D’ar shot Athos a hopeful look and Athos smiled at the boy fondly.

“Careful, my friend, he might take you up on that,” Athos warned.

“Good,” Serge replied with a firm nod. “Cause I meant it.”

With another round of thanks and a handshake between the adults, Athos and D’ar made their way out of the fancy stable.  
“Did you know that the NYPD only wants dark-colored horses? Bays, black or brown.” D’ar spewed facts the whole way back to the vehicle. “And they have to be over 15 hands tall – that’s really big!”

“I take it this qualified as a nice surprise?” Athos couldn’t help but ask when they reached the SUV.

D’ar’s response was immediate. The boy flung himself at Athos for a tight hug. “This was the best surprise ever.”

Unlike the other hugs D’ar had given Athos, this time he didn’t hide his face in Athos’ chest. Instead, he looked up and Athos could clearly see the happiness and gratitude shining from his face.

“Thank you,” D’ar continued.

Athos squeezed his brother tightly for a moment. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Do you think we’ll get to come back?” D’ar asked after he let go and both of them were getting into the SUV.

“Serge wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t mean it,” Athos replied, but then went on with a warning. “We’ll have to be careful not to be a nuisance, however, and not wear out our welcome.”

“I won’t,” D’ar promised. The boy’s grin was a sight to see. “I just never thought about horses in New York City before.”

“There are also the carriage horses that give rides to tourists in Central Park,” Athos told him. “Those are a bit more controversial than the mounted police, however. I don’t have any connections there, I’m afraid.”

“Sampson, that’s the horse Serge let me groom, reminded me of my Buttercup, even though he was twice her size,” D’ar said.

“Buttercup?” Athos prompted.

“She was my horse,” D’ar told him, a little wistfulness creeping into his tone. “I wonder if Aunt Catherine kept her or sold her?”

Athos, of course, couldn’t tell him, but he did make a silent vow to himself to find out. D’ar’s happy chatter continued through the commute back to their apartment. Athos heard every tidbit that Serge had shared with D’ar, along with quite a bit of detail about how it differed from the horse operation that Alexander d’Artagnan had run.

D’ar didn’t wind down until they were close to the apartment. Athos had been so happy listening to his younger brother’s happy chatter that he hadn’t made an effort to tell D’ar that there would be another surprise before the day was over.

“I’d appreciate it if you would do me a favor and text one of the others that we’ve nearly arrived,” Athos when they were several blocks away.

“Okay.” Having a phone was still such a novelty that D’ar did as Athos asked without questioning why.

Less than five minutes later, the SUV drove around the building and into the parking area in the back. Warned by whichever of Athos’ friends that D’ar had texted, Ann Royalton was waiting for them by the back entrance to the building.

“Why’s Mrs. Royalton here?” D’ar sounded both anxious and excited at the same time, resulting in the boy being far less happy at seeing his social worker than Athos would have expected.

Athos mentally kicked himself. One good surprise couldn’t counteract all the bad ones that his brother had experienced over the last three years.

“She dropped by to do an unannounced inspection,” Athos quickly explained. “She’s not here to relocate you. After what happened with the Durases, she’s not taking any chances with your wellbeing, that’s all.”

That simple reassurance was all D’ar needed. He was out of the SUV like a shot and all but ran to his social worker. Just short of the woman, D’ar came to an abrupt stop and so it was Ann Royalton who initiated the hug. Athos watched with satisfaction for a moment before he got out of the SUV. He retrieved their earlier purchases before joining the other two.

“I’ve heard you’ve had quite the adventure today,” Ann Royalton greeted Athos as he approached.

“We did, thanks to a friend of mine,” Athos confirmed. “You’ll be happy to know that he was very impressed with D’ar’s horsemanship.”

“And I have a nonna now too,” D’ar told his social worker. “That means ‘grandmother’ in Italian. I never had one of those before.”

“You do say,” Ann’s face was glowing and Athos felt the tiny knot he’d had in his stomach relax. Despite his reassurances to his brother, he couldn’t help but feeling a little anxious when he’d heard about Ann’s arrival.

“Why don’t you take Mrs. Royalton upstairs,” Athos suggested to his brother as he handed him the laundry hamper full of the items they’d purchased. “I’ll just check in at the office and be up in a moment. You remember the code, right, D’ar?”

“Right,” D’ar didn’t hesitate when he answered. “I can show her some of the clothes we got.”

“Show her anything she wants,” Athos instructed. He watched as D’ar headed up the stairs. Ann followed, after giving Athos with another bright smile.

With an unusually light heart, Athos took the other door that led to the office. There was really no reason for him to check in, but he did want to give D’ar and the social worker a few private moments. When he walked into the office, however, Athos was taken aback when all three of his friends started applauding.

“We hear you’ve had a bang up day,” Porthos said smugly. “Knew you could do it.”

“Ann showed us the photo from the police stable,” Aramis added, but went on before Athos could chide him for getting overly familiar with the off-limits social worker. “That was a genius idea.”

“And we want a copy of that picture,” Constance added. “The one you sent Ann.”

Athos was already in a good mood, but his friends’ praise made him feel even better. “It did go quite well, if I do say so myself.”

Porthos snorted with laughter. “That’s a typical Athos understatement if I ever heard one. ‘Quite well’ my hairy bottom. If that boy would have smiled any wider, it would have broke his face.”

“The only question is, what are you going to do as a follow up?” Aramis asked. “You’ve got the whole weekend ahead of you, you know.”

As if Athos needed to be reminded. He and D’ar had made huge strides in just a couple of days, but the weekend loomed ahead with hours and hours that needed to be filled.

“I think he wants to play soccer with Mama O’s nephews,” Athos said slowly. “And I thought I might convince D’ar to pick out a color for his bedroom.”

“Which reminds me,” Constance spoke up. “Your delivery arrived and we let them into the apartment.”

“Ah.” A smile played about Athos’ lips. D’ar would have one last surprise when he walked into his room. “I suppose I should go upstairs and see how it’s going.”

“Let us know if you want any help with the painting,” Porthos offered. “I’ve got plans tomorrow, but am available Sunday afternoon.”

“I’ll let you know,” Athos told him, but didn’t think he’d take his friend up on the offer. There was only the one room to paint, after all and D’ar relaxed a lot when it was just the two of them.

“Speaking of Sunday,” Aramis seemed uncharacteristically hesitant. “Have you asked D’ar if he’d like to attend church?”

“No, I’m embarrassed to admit that I hadn’t asked.” Athos thought about it for a moment. “For this weekend, I won’t bring it up. There’s been enough going on for the boy as it is.”

“Fair enough,” Aramis readily replied. “And if D’ar does mention wanting to go, mass is still at the same time.”

They knew from their research that D’ar had been raised Catholic, as had Athos, Aramis and Porthos. Aramis, of course, attended church regularly and was an active member in a nearby church. Athos, on the other hand, hadn’t been on good terms with God since Thomas died and mostly eschewed it. On the few occasions he’d felt the need to attend, or whenever Aramis successfully nagged him into, he’d gone to Aramis’ church and found the priest to be a good one. Porthos attended slightly more often than Athos did, although not nearly with the frequency or enthusiasm of Aramis.

After excusing himself from his friends, Athos went up to the apartment. He wasn’t surprised to find that D’ar had correctly remembered the entrance code, but he was somewhat surprised that his brother was on his way back out. When he saw Athos, however, D’ar instead just gave his brother another hug, albeit a quick one.

“You got the horse wall sculpture,” D’ar said. “Thank you!”

Athos gave him a squeeze and let go. Two hugs in one day? He could get used to that.

“Yes, I did and you’re welcome.” Athos smiled at his brother. “It combined your passion for horses and for drawing; you had to have it.”

“I didn’t know you liked to draw, D’ar,” The social worker was standing in the spot where the hallway to the bedrooms met up with the living room.

D’ar’s blush reached all the way to the tips of his ears. “It’s just doodling.”

“Well, I’d love to see it someday.” She looked down at her watch. “Unfortunately, not today. I have to run. This was just a check to see how you’re doing in your new placement and, from what I can see, you’re doing splendidly.”

“You can’t stay?” D’ar asked, his smile gone at the news.

“Not today,” Ann put a hand on his shoulder. “But I’ll be visiting again soon, I promise. And if you need me for anything, you can text me, right?”

The suggestion didn’t cheer the boy up any, but he did reluctantly agree. “Right.”

The social worker pulled D’ar in for another quick hug. “The time will fly now that you’re in the right home, you’ll see.” She turned to Athos. “Athos, if you wouldn’t mind walking me to my car?”

“Of course,” he agreed readily.

“I can walk you down, Mrs. Royal-. . . .” D’ar’s suggestion broke off with an expression of sudden understanding. “Oh, you two want to do some grown-up talk.”

“Something like that,” Ann confirmed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “But it’s all good stuff, I promise.”

“All right,” D’ar sighed. “Bye.”

“When I come back, we’ll start heating'up the leftovers from Mama O,” Athos told him and D’ar brightened considerably.

There was no conversation between the two adults as they went down the stairs, as if by unspoken agreement they didn’t want to take the chance of D’ar overhearing them. They went out the back and walked slowly around to the front, where Ann’s car was parked.

“It’s hard to believe that’s the same child I brought over just two nights ago,” Ann broke the silence. “It’s amazing.”

“D’ar is remarkable,” Athos refused to take any credit for the transformation. “His strength and resilience is incredible.”

“I agree, but I think his older brother might have something to do with the change too,” Ann wouldn’t let Athos off the hook that easily.

Athos shrugged; praise made him uncomfortable. “D’ar and I have loss in common and I think simply recognizing that has gone a long way towards making him feel at home.” He allowed himself a small smile. “Well, that and good Italian food, not to mention horses.”

“I saw the checklists the two of you started on rules and boundaries; I think you’re going in the right direction,” Ann told him and then sighed. “He also showed me his new laptop, his new phone and the wall sculpture. I know D’ar’s been without nice things for so long, but you also need to be careful that you don’t try to buy his affection.”

His first reaction was to bristle at the suggestion, especially coming from the woman who’d bought D’ar new shoes using her own money, but Athos forced himself to wait a moment before answering. Thankfully, Ann was willing to give him that time.

“I know it looks that way at first glance, but the phone is a necessity, what with needing to coordinate on the days I won’t be able to pick D’ar up from school.” When she didn’t fault his reasoning, Athos continued. “It’s my understanding that students D’ar’s age without access to a computer are disadvantaged and, given the privacy that the nature of my work often requires, I cannot allow him to use mine. Thus, he needed his own.”

She nodded and smiled slightly. “And the wall sculpture?”

Athos considered dissembling, but quickly gave that tactic up and smiled back at her instead. “I have to admit that purchase was pure indulgence.”

Ann laughed out loud. “And I have to admit that I don’t blame you one little bit.”

They’d arrived at Ann’s car and she put her hand on his arm as she looked up at him intently. “I know how badly you want to fix everything for D’ar; I want that too. Like I said before, just be careful. He’s been without for so long that he could get overwhelmed. It may not be good for him to suddenly be showered with every single thing that he could possibly conceive of wanting.”

Athos sighed, seeing her point. He’d been raised by a wealthy family and had wanted for nothing. The only reason he’d not been a spoiled rotten brat was that his father also believed in having to earn things. Many of his peers had been little more than entitled brats and hadn’t been very pleasant to be around. From what Athos had seen, there was virtually no possibility of D’ar becoming like that, but if a little bit of self-control would prevent it all together, than Athos would rein himself in.

“In other words, don’t spoil him,” Athos said when he realized that the social worker was waiting for him to agree.

To his surprise, Ann laughed again.

“Oh, spoil him,” she said. “D’ar deserves a little spoiling – just don’t spoil him rotten.”

“Ah,” Athos could see the distinction, but knew it would be a fine line to walk, especially since D’ar had been deprived of basic necessities for so long.

“You’re a smart man, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Ann assured him. “Before I go, I need to know if you made the appointments – D’ar for counseling and you for the nutritionist.”

“Yes, I made them yesterday.” He’d needed something to do while Porthos helped D’ar set his laptop up. “I visit the nutritionist on Tuesday and D’ar has counseling on Thursday.”

“Good, very good.” Ann took her phone out of her pocket and wrinkled her nose at it. Athos figured she must have gotten a text. “I really have to go, but I’ll be stopping in at some point to do a full inspection.”

“I look forward to it,” Athos replied steadily. He knew that she wouldn’t find anything negative about the space he provided his brother; it was his care that worried Athos. “I’m sure D’ar will too.”

Ann got into her car and Athos watched as she drove off. He went back in through the front door, however, knowing he’d be bombarded with texted questions from his friends if he didn’t.

“And?” Porthos sat straighter in his chair.

“And she’s pleased with what she’s seen so far,” Athos told them. “Although she did give me a cautionary word about spoiling D’ar.”

Constance made a decidedly unladylike noise. “Not possible.”

“Ann’s just being diligent, like the superior social worker that she is,” Aramis came to Ann’s defense.

“Uh-huh,” Porthos wasn’t buying it. Neither was Athos, for that matter, although he stayed silent. “Not Athos’ fault that the boy arrived needin’ so much.”

“Be that as it may,” Athos intervened before a discussion of Ann Royalton’s qualities ensued, “I need to get back to D’ar, no doubt he’s wondering about the outcome of his social worker’s visit too.”

Porthos gave him a knowing look. “You’re not gonna be calling about helping out with the painting, are you?”

Athos smiled sheepishly. “Probably not.”

“Fine,” Aramis crossed his arms over his chest. “Be selfish with our new little brother and hog him all to yourself, we don’t care.”

“Oh, you,” Constance rolled her eyes at his pouting. “The two of them need time to bond.”

“Both are true,” Athos shrugged. “With just the two of us, I did get to know D’ar better and, yes, I am being selfish.” He looked at each of his friends in turn, hoping his feelings shone through. “I want D’ar to consider you his family as well, but would like a little more time to cement my own relationship with him.”

Aramis was the closest of the three and moved to put his hand on Athos shoulder. He’d dropped the pretense of being upset. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that you truly don’t need to explain, my friend.”

“And we’re happy that it’s going so well,” Constance added.

“So far,” Athos cautioned. He kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Porthos glared at him. “I said it before and I’ll keep sayin’ it until you get it right – that boy is damn lucky to have a home with you. I bet he knows it by now, it’s time you figure it out too.”

“I will, eventually,” Athos promised. “And thank you. I seem to be saying that a lot lately, but I appreciate your support more than you can know.”

“Get out of here,” Porthos told him. “Go be with your little brother.”

“That’s right,” Aramis added with a cheeky grin. “The rest of us can survive without your bright and bubbly personality for one weekend.”

Constance just made a shooing motion with her hands.

With a final fond smile, Athos left the office and jogged up the stairs. In the short time it took him to reach the apartment, his happy glow faded. Instead, he imagine D’ar sitting alone and upset, perhaps worried that the social worker was about to yank him back to foster care. When Athos opened the door, however, he saw D’ar setting silverware for two place settings at the breakfast bar. The boy looked up when the door open, but instead of looking concerned, he just smiled. 

“Our laptops are still on the table, so I figured this would be okay,” D’ar explained.

Athos breathed out a sigh of relief, happy again to be wrong. He moved to get the food from the fridge. “Mrs. Royalton is very pleased with how you’re settling in.”

“That’s what she told me,” D’ar dug his phone out of his back pocket and showed it to Athos. “Look, she even posed for a picture for me.”

The social worker had and D’ar had already linked the photo to his contact list. 

“Well done,” Athos praised him. “Now, do you want to finish the spaghetti that Mama O sent or are you interested in trying something else?”

“Spaghetti please.”

It didn’t take long to dish up two plates from the boxes of leftovers and heat them in the microwave. Having recently been reminded that he would meet with a nutritionist the next week, Athos even found a bag of salad in the fridge and added a bowl of greens for each of them. He did wistfully think that the meal would have been better with a glass of red wine, but D’ar’s company more than made up the lack.

As they were cleaning up, the evening stretched ahead of them.

“Are you going to get started on your homework tonight?” Athos asked D’ar.

The expression on D’ar’s face could only be called appalled and Athos laughed out loud at the sight of it. “All right, not tonight, but you’re going to have to get up early enough on Monday as it is because of the long commute. You can’t count on staying up late Sunday night to finish it.”

“I won’t,” D’ar promised. 

Athos noticed how the boy’s eyes darted towards the television. Their day hadn’t been as busy as the one before, but it had been plenty full of activity. Athos wouldn’t mind some couch time himself.

“Shall we see if we can find a movie we can agree on?” Athos asked.

D’ar nodded eagerly and they finally settled on a comic book movie. Athos wasn’t the enthusiast that Porthos was, but many of them were well enough done that they didn’t make his brain bleed. Besides, as Athos settled into the couch to watch along with his brother, he wouldn’t really be watching the movie anyway. Instead, he’d be watching his little brother enjoying it and just soaking up the time with D’ar.

Athos wasn’t a fool. The first two days with D’ar in his custody had gone amazingly well, but the effortlessness of it wasn’t likely to last. Nothing could stay that perfect forever. Trouble of some sort, big or small, was bound to happen at some point. The other shoe, as it were, would eventually drop. When it did, Athos would deal with it, most likely with the help of his friends. 

Until then, he would simply enjoy his brother’s company.


	10. Chapter 10

For the first time in years, D’ar woke up and had nothing but enthusiasm about the day stretching out ahead of him. So far, living with Athos was better than he could ever have imagined – Athos was better than D’ar could ever have imagined. Not even Mrs. Royalton seemed as concerned about how D’ar felt and what he needed as Athos clearly did. D’ar hadn’t felt so safe since his dad had died.

That thought brought D’ar up short and he turned his head so that the photo of his father was in view. He knew his dad would be happy that a family member was looking out for D’ar again, but D’ar felt a little guilty about how quickly Athos had come to mean a lot to him. He reminded himself that Alexander d’Artagnan had been his father and Athos was his brother. Equally important, but different.

“You’d like him, Dad,” D’ar said softly to his father’s picture. “I think you’d like him a lot.”

Saturday morning was the start of D’ar’s third day living with Athos and he was feeling a lot more comfortable with the routine and with his brother. He got out of bed and immediately straightened the covers. At least he wouldn’t have to take a shower, as Athos had suggested that D’ar clean up the night before. He’d said something about D’ar smelling ‘horsey’ and the memory of that comment had D’ar shaking his head. Athos had sounded as though smelling like horse was a bad thing.

It was early yet, but D’ar was too excited to sleep late. The soccer game wasn’t happening for hours, but D’ar was keyed up about it. He bit his lip, though, as he stood outside his closet. He was going to be playing and, even if it was indoors, he would probably get dirty. It would make sense to wear some of the old clothes from his foster kid days. Only the items he’d been wearing during their shopping trip on Thursday had been thrown out, so he still had a couple of old outfits. That would be the smart thing to do and yet D’ar hesitated.

He didn’t want to dress like a foster kid anymore, but D’ar didn’t want to ruin his new clothes either. He knew Athos well enough already to know he probably wouldn’t get angry, but neither did D’ar want to risk costing his brother more money.

With a heavier heart that what he’d woken up with, D’ar changed into a set of his old clothes. The fabric of the shirt and pants was worn and soft, but D’ar was keenly aware that the arms and legs were too short. At least he had a new belt to help keep the pants up.

Athos wasn’t up yet, but D’ar hadn’t expected him to be. He walked into the kitchen, knowing he needed to eat breakfast if he expected to have enough energy for soccer. The eggs that Athos had made the morning before were good, but D’ar wasn’t sure if he was allowed to use the stove or not. There was always peanut butter, but D’ar’s stomach didn’t like the idea of that. Remembering that there was cereal, D’ar made his choice and was soon seated at the breakfast bar, listlessly swirling his spoon in the mixture of flakes and milk. Wasting food was not to be considered, so D’ar finished his cereal before drinking the milk from the bowl. Once it was empty, he rinsed it and set it into the dishwasher.

There was still no indication that Athos was up, so D’ar went back to his bedroom. The wall sculpture had been laid out on his desk until they could get it hung and D’ar ran reverent fingers along the metal. Athos thought they should paint the walls before hanging it; that would be their major chore for the weekend. D’ar, however, had another chore and that was homework. He sighed deeply, but left the sculpture and gathered his schoolwork. Since his desk was occupied, he took his books and other school paraphernalia back to the living room.

The kitchen table still had two laptops on it, so D’ar instead settled on the couch. He turned the TV on and kept the sound low, easily finding a sports channel. Basketball wasn’t D’ar’s favorite sport, but at least it provided some background activity.

D’ar had looked over his assignment list earlier and there were only three things he really needed to worry about; namely, math, social studies and literature. Between the three, only one was remotely appealing and, decision made on where to start, D’ar immediately reached for the appropriate textbook.

Math was D’ar’s favorite subject and so he soon lost himself in the numbers. He quickly forgot all about the basketball game playing in the background. He was also too involved with the assignment to keep an ear out for his brother and so was startled when Athos greeted him.

“You are entirely too industrious for a Saturday morning.”

D’ar’s head shot up, but he immediately relaxed when he saw the faint smile in Athos’ eyes. “You said I shouldn’t leave my home work until the last minute.”

“So I did.” Athos ran a hand through his unruly hair. “I’m just not used to someone listening to me or, heaven forbid, actually acting on my advice. Aramis and Porthos could learn a thing or two from you.”

Smiling shyly, D’ar shrugged. “I like math. It’s like a puzzle, trying to figure out how the numbers fit together to get to the right answer.” He noticed that Athos had started frowning at him. “You don’t like math?”

Athos seemed to shake himself. “That’s not it, I was just wondering what you’re wearing.”

D’ar looked down, having forgotten for a few minutes that he was dressed like a foster kid again. “It’s not a school day or anything.”

When Athos replied, it seemed like he was choosing his words carefully. “Did you put these clothes on for sentimental reasons?” Apparently seeing that D’ar was confused, he explained. “Are you wearing them because you’re fond of them?”

“No!” D’ar was dismayed at the very idea. “I hate these clothes.”

“Then why do you have them on?” Athos asked, blinking at this brother’s vehemence.

D’ar hung his head, blushing. He’d managed to upset Athos after all. “I didn’t want to ruin any of my new things by playing soccer in them.”

He didn’t hear Athos moving, but the next thing D’ar knew, his brother had gently put his hand under D’ar’s chin and lifted his head so that the two could look at each other face to face.

“You are not a foster child anymore, D’ar,” Athos’ voice was as soft as his grip, which he dropped once D’ar was looking at him in the eye. “And while it’s true that you shouldn’t play soccer in the school clothes that we bought, it seems to me that we did get you some athletic-style clothing too. Something like soccer is what they were meant for; it wouldn’t be ruining them to wear them today.”

D’ar felt a huge weight fall of his shoulders. He’d hated dressing in his old clothing. “Really?”

“Really,” Athos assured him and then patted him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you get changed while I take my shower; we can figure breakfast out after that.”  
“I had some cereal already,” D’ar felt compelled to admit.

“That’s not enough to play soccer on,” Athos scoffed. “I think we can do better for you.”

“Okay,” D’ar was happy to agree. All of a sudden he was starving. Greatly daring, he added, “Athos?”

His brother had started making his way towards his bedroom, but stopped when D’ar said his name. “Yes?”

“When we were shopping, we threw the old clothes that I was wearing that day away,” D’ar reminded him. “Do you think we could do that with the rest of them? I mean, if I won’t be needing them anymore.”

Athos smiled at him. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea.”

It didn’t take long for D’ar to change into some of his new clothes. He picked the knit shorts and a new t-shirt. After that, he made short work of going through his closet and drawers, looking for the items of clothing that he’d arrived with. It didn’t take long. Not only were there only a couple of outfits, but they stood out from the others because they were so ratty and worn.

D’ar finished before Athos, so he dumped the old clothing into an untidy pile on the couch and put his schoolwork back in the bedroom. Athos didn’t take that long to shower and soon he was done too. When he came back to the main living area, Athos went to the kitchen and got out a garbage bag. He held it open while D’ar gladly put the old clothing inside, and then gave it to D’ar to tie shut.

“Come with me, I’ll show you where the garbage goes,” Athos told him. “I’d rather that whomever notices that the garbage needs taking out just do it, rather than scheduling it as a chore, but we can modify that plan later if we need to.”

There was a small dumpster outside, which served for both the business and Athos’ apartment. It was locked.

“I suppose you’ll need to get keys of your own,” Athos told D’ar as he unlocked it. “Perhaps that’s a task we can get accomplished today.”

D’ar liked the sound of that. Having his own keys would make the living arrangement seem a lot more permanent.

“Here we go,” Athos had finished unlocking the dumpster and held up the lid. “I’ll let you have the honors.”

D’ar had to lean up a little to get the bag of clothes up and over, but it was easy enough to do. It seemed almost anticlimactic when the bag hit the interior of the dumpster with a muffled thud, but D’ar still felt lighter.

“Feel better?” Athos asked him.

“Much.” D’ar nodded emphatically.

“Good,” Athos locked the dumpster and headed back to the apartment. “Let’s get you fueled up for the game.”

They decided on egg sandwiches for breakfast, with Athos handling the eggs and D’ar again manning the toaster. It didn’t take long to eat and clean up, which was good. Not only had D’ar found his appetite, but it was approaching time for the game. 

Athos picked up the coffee pot as though he was going to pour himself another cup, but his lips twitched as he got a good look at D’ar’s face. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to torture you by lingering. It’s a little chilly out, so I suggest you put your long sweats on over the shorts and then we can get going.”

D’ar hurried to his bedroom and did just that. When he returned, he discovered that Athos had poured his coffee into a travel-style mug.

“Ready to go?” Athos asked.

“Yeah.”

The two brothers set off walking, but they didn’t get far before Athos insisted on a stop.

“I know you’re not thirsty now,” Athos told D’ar as they entered the neighborhood bodega. “But you will be after you run around on the soccer field. It won’t take long to get some water.”

“Hey, Athos!” They were greeted by the man behind the counter as soon as they walked in. “Haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”

“Good morning, Jordan,” Athos replied. He put his hand on D’ar’s shoulder. “I’d like you to meet my brother, D’ar. He’s recently come to live with me.”

“Hi,” D’ar gave an awkward wave.

Jordan was younger than Athos and he had long hair that was tied back in a ponytail. He grinned at D’ar, revealing that one of his front teeth had a gold-colored cap.

“Athos has a little bro?” Jordan said. “Awesome. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks,” D’ar smiled, but felt awkward.

It didn’t take long to grab two bottles of water, one for each of them, and a bottle of Gatorade. Jordan rang them up and they were soon on their way again.

“Everyone seems happy that you have a brother,” D’ar said as they resumed their walk towards the field house.

Athos smiled. “I suppose it’s because they sense how happy I am about it.”

D’ar smiled shyly back. “Me too.”

The field house was about a five block walk and, by the time they got there, D’ar was very glad that Athos had suggested that he wear the longer sweats. It was still early spring and there was a definite bite in the air. The field house itself was a bubble-type structure. D’ar had never been in one of those. The entrance was a traditional building, though, so they had no trouble finding where to go in.

Once inside, a cacophony of noise hit them. Athos was quiet and so was his apartment, so much so that D’ar had almost forgotten how much noise a group of kids his own age could make. The field house didn’t just have kids his age, either. There was also a large number of younger kids and they seemed to be generating a lot of the noise.

Both Athos and D’ar recoiled from the wall of sound that crashed on them, but it was Athos who recovered first. As D’ar shrank back, he put a hand on the small of his younger brother’s back.

“Steady,” Athos said, so quietly that it almost got lost amidst the other noise.

D’ar looked up at Athos is gratitude, but before he could say anything, was distracted by someone calling his name.

“D’ar!” Paulie came running up to the two of them. “You made it!” He turned and yelled over his shoulder. “See, I’d told you he’d be here!”

“Hi, Paul-. . .” D’ar’s greeting was cut off when his new friend grabbed him by the arm and propelled him towards a group of kids about their age. D’ar looked back at Athos for permission, but his brother just gestured for him to continue.

“This is D’ar, idn’t that a cool name?” Paulie introduced him to his friends. “And he’s really, really fast.”

D’ar gulped, hoping that he could live up to Paulie’s bragging. He didn’t have to worry about saying anything, though, because Paulie took care of that.

“That’s Trevor, Joey and Joel,” Paulie pointed at each boy in return. “She’s Kendra and the last guy is Ralph, but everybody calls him Scooter because Ralph is a kinda sucky name.”

“Hi,” D’ar said gamely.

“Are you really fast?” The girl, Kendra, asked.

“I said he was fast, don’t he look fast?” Paulie answered before D’ar could. “Don’t worry, D’ar, that’s just Kendra and she don’t believe nobody. C’mon, we’ll just have to show her.”

Paulie led the way through a set of revolving doors and soon the little group was inside the dome. The floor of it was covered in artificial turf and nets cordoned off the spaces. Two of the furthest ones were set up like soccer fields and, sure enough, that’s where Paulie was headed.

“That there’s the kids from the next neighborhood over,” Paulie explained as they walked. “They’re used to winnin’ ‘cause they’re faster’n us, but that’s gonna change today.”

D’ar felt another stab of self-doubt, but he didn’t have time to spend worrying. He barely had time to remove his long sweats before the game got started.  
Neither side had enough members for a regular soccer team, so they improvised. They’d obviously played each other a lot, because there wasn’t a lot of discussion of the rules. Nor were there a lot of adults. D’ar saw that Athos was seated at one of the nearby benches and there was a man there that D’ar recognized from the restaurant – Paulie’s dad. But the grown-ups mostly left them alone.

At first D’ar played a little tentatively. He was used to other players taunting him or even deliberately tripping him. To his relief, though, none of that happened. There was some smack talk, but it took place on both sides, wasn’t targeted to any one person and was basically good-natured. As D’ar relaxed and threw himself into the game, he found that Paulie had been right; he was faster than the members of the other team.

D’ar had left his bottles of water and Gatorade where he’d left his sweats and it wasn’t far into the game that he was glad that Athos had insisted on stopping to get them. Every time he had a breather off the field, he gulped some down. He didn’t stay on the sidelines for long, however, and was in a lot of demand as a player.

The game flew by in a whirlwind of running, kicking and celebrating scores. D’ar looked over at the bench occasionally and Athos was there, every time. When his brother saw D’ar looking, he’d even wave. Paulie’s dad was sitting there too, but a lot of the time when D’ar looked, Paulie’s dad had his eyes on his phone. Not Athos. He paid attention to the game and it gave D’ar a warm feeling inside.

By the time Paulie’s father told them that time was up, D’ar was tired but exhilarated. His team had won by a comfortable margin and the other kids, not just Paulie, were verbal with their enthusiasm. Even doubting Kendra told him he’d done a good job.

“No fair you bringing in a ringer like that,” a boy from the opposing team said, but he was grinning. “I guess you needed to just so you could beat us.”

“D’ar’s not a ringer, he only moved here coupla days ago,” Paulie protested, also grinning. “You’re just mad ‘cause we got him first.”

It was weird, having two teams fight over him, even if it was friendly. D’ar blushed and ducked his head.

“All right, you chuckle heads,” Paulie’s dad addressed both teams. “My sister sent some sandwiches, they’re in the red cooler. Make sure you share!”

D’ar looked around for Athos, who was standing not too far away. To his relief, his brother smiled at him.

“Go, join the others,” Athos told him, his lips curved up in a small smile. “You deserve it.”

With his brother’s permission, D’ar let himself be swept away by the other kids, back through the revolving doors and into the more traditional building. Now that he wasn’t being rushed to the game, D’ar saw that part of the large room was set up with tables. Sure enough, one of the tables had a large red cooler on it.

“Awesome, Zia O sent the good stuff,” Paulie had opened the cooler and was divvying out sandwiches to members of both teams. “She must really like you, D’ar.”

D’ar accepted a sandwich and took a seat across from Paulie. “Does she send food for every game?”

“Yeah,” Paulie had taken a big bite of his sandwich and didn’t bother swallowing before talking. “It’s usually smaller stuff, though.”

Listening to the conversations around him, D’ar soon discovered why the two rivals got on so well. During the summer they were all on the same team in a local junior soccer league.

“You’re gonna join, right?” Paulie questioned D’ar. “You gotta be on the team.”

“I don’t know,” D’ar wanted to play, but hesitated to commit. “That’ll be up to Athos.”

“Your brother?” Paulie asked, but as D’ar had already discovered about his new friend, characteristically went on before D’ar could answer. “He’ll say yes. My cousins all say that he’s their favorite customer at the restaurant.”

“I thought that was Aramis?” D’ar remembered his dinner at Mama O’s.

Paulie snorted. “Him too, but I’ve heard them going on and on about how ‘dreamy’ Athos’ eyes are.”

D’ar thought his brother was pretty great, but that seemed an odd thing to say. “His eyes?”

“Who knows? Paulie shrugged. “Girls are weird.”

“Hey!” Kendra was sitting on the other side of Paulie. “Watch it, I’m a girl.”

“Not yet, you’re not,” Paulie retorted. “You’re Kendra. You’re not a girl until you get all gooey about boys and stuff.”

Kendra sniffed with distaste. “Like I’d ever get gooey over the likes of you.”

The others laughed, including Paulie, so D’ar joined it. It felt good to be part of a group.

“The soccer league, is it through school?” D’ar asked. “Because I don’t go to school around here. I’m finishing up the year at my old school.” And there was zero chance that D’ar would be playing soccer, or any other sport, there.

“Nah, we don’t all go to the same school,” Paulie told him. “I go to public school, so do Scooter and Kendra. But Joey and Joel go to the Catholic one and Trevor goes to some fancy private school over on the island.”

Trevor didn’t look happy about it. “I have to wear a tie. Every day.”

D’ar joined the others in murmuring their sympathy.

“Naw, I’m talkin’ about the local community soccer league. You pay a fee and they assign you to a team based on where you live and how old you are,” Paulie explained. “There’s more rules than this morning, but that’s okay too. You get a shirt and, if your coach is cool, the players get to pick the team name.”

“Last year we were the ‘Orange Crush,’” Kendra explained. “But we didn’t do too much crushing.”

“When D’ar’s on our team, we’ll do better,” Paulie claimed. “Just you see.”

The conversation turned to discussing past games and D’ar just ate his sandwich while the others talked. Paulie was friendly and a lot of fun, but D’ar already knew enough to doubt that his stories were entirely true - and that was even before the other kids shouted him down. D’ar hadn’t laughed so much in a long time.  
It didn’t take the hungry kids long to devour the sandwiches and before long, Paulie’s dad came over to get them to clean up. Once the last wrapper was in the trash, D’ar looked around for Athos. He didn’t have to look far.

“Sorry,” D’ar said, belatedly realizing just how much of Athos’ time he’d taken.

“Nonsense,” Athos shrugged off the apology. “I enjoyed watching you have such a good time.”

D’ar smiled. “It was a lot of fun.”

“Good,” Athos handed D’ar his sweats and D’ar blushed, only then realizing he’d forgotten them in the mayhem after the game. Athos waited for him while D’ar slipped them on. “Did you get enough to eat? That was a lot of running you did.”

“Um, yeah?” D’ar didn’t want to seem greedy, but it had been a long game. “I’m all ri- wait a minute, did you get anything to eat?”

“Angelo took out sandwiches for us first,” Athos reassured him. “But I worked up quite an appetite just watching you. You’re a very good player.”  
D’ar shrugged, not sure how to handle the praise. “I like to run.”

“Hey D’ar!” Paulie ran up to them just as the brothers were walking out. “You’ll be here next week, right? Same time and everything.”

“I don’t know,” D’ar looked at Athos.

“If you want to, I think we can certainly work it in,” Athos assured him.

“Great, see you next week, D’ar,” Paulie ran back towards his impatient father. “It’s gonna be awesome.”

The two brothers looked at each, each of them a little startled at Paulie’s assumption that D’ar was now a permanent member of team.

“I guess you’ll be playing soccer for the foreseeable future.” Athos said. His lips were twitching, though, so D’ar knew he wasn’t mad.

“I don’t have to,” D’ar offered as they started off walking back towards the apartment. “Paulie’s a little . . . . pushy? He’s nice, though.”

“That’s the same impression I got, both with the pushy and with the nice,” Athos replied. “And if you truly want to play, I have no issues with it all – you seemed to be having a wonderful time. But if you don’t want to join in, I won’t have you bulldozed into it, even by a new friend.”

“No, I enjoyed playing,” D’ar said after just a moment of thought. “All of the kids seemed nice.”

“Excellent,” Athos said. “They’re pretty good players too.”

The two brothers spent the rest of the walk home discussing the game. Athos knew about soccer, although he claimed that he wasn’t the true expert in his group of friends.

“Aramis considered becoming a professional player for a while,” Athos told a surprised D’ar. “He was talented enough to do it too.”

“Why didn’t he?” D’ar asked. Becoming a pro athlete seemed pretty great to him.

Athos shrugged. “I believe he felt a calling to serve his country, you’d have to ask him for the details. I do know that he’d be happy to give you tips and suggestions. He still loves the game.”

They’d reached the building by that time and quickly headed up the stairs.

“Forgive my bluntness, but you need a shower,” Athos told D’ar as he opened the door. “Go get cleaned up and I’ll see what I can find to round out our lunch.”

D’ar pulled his shirt away from his chest and dipped his face in the opening to take a whiff. He immediately regretted the action. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

As he gathered fresh clothing and went about taking a shower, D’ar thought about how often he’d showered since coming to live with Athos. Mrs. Duras would approve of the cleanliness, but not the use of all that water. No doubt she’d find fault with D’ar for getting dirty, but Athos didn’t seem to mind at all.

He wasn’t exactly sure what else they had planned for the day, so after he showered, D’ar dressed in a clean pair of jeans and another shirt. Smelling much better, he went back to the main living area. Athos was in the kitchen and he looked up as D’ar approached.

“We’ve only a piece or two of bread left,” Athos looked a little sheepish as he slid a plate across the breakfast bar to D’ar. “This will have to do.”

It was a sandwich, but on a bagel instead of sliced bread. D’ar was more excited to see the potato chips that went along with the sandwich; Mrs. Duras would never spend the money on something like that.

“Looks good to me,” D’ar said and immediately dug in.

The sandwich at the field house had been great, but he’d worked up quite an appetite and it hadn’t quite been enough. By the time he finished his bagel sandwich, though, D’ar felt satisfied.

“I think,” Athos said as he wiped his hands with a paper napkin. His sandwich had also disappeared quickly. “That we’ll need to do some grocery shopping today.”  
“What else are we doing?” D’ar asked shyly. He really wanted to get his room painted so that the awesome wall statue that Athos got him could be hung, but he didn’t want to nag about it.

“In addition to the grocery shopping, I thought we could pick out some paint and get your room prepped,” Athos told him.

“Do you think we’ll get it painted today?” D’ar asked, very pleased that Athos brought up painting so that he didn’t have to.

Athos shook his head. “Probably not. By the time we pick up the paint and get the tape up to protect the woodwork, it will be too late to get started. Besides, don’t you have some homework left to do?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” D’ar tried not to be too disappointed. He didn’t want to let Athos down.

“Not the most exciting weekend, I know,” Athos’ lips were twisted mostly up in a smile, but it was odd enough of a smile for D’ar to know that his brother felt kind of bad.

“I had enough excitement earlier,” D’ar commented. He’d been referring to the soccer game, but Athos took another meaning to his words.

“I suppose you have at that,” Athos said. “With all the changes in your life, it’s been an eventful week.”

“The last part of it’s been great,” D’ar reassured his brother.

“That’s good to hear,” Athos’ smile was shy. “It’s been great for me as well.”

For once, Athos has used paper plates and so clean-up was easy. After that they made a grocery list together. Athos went through the fridge and cabinets, calling out what they needed while D’ar wrote it down. It didn’t feel a chore. Rather, it made him feel like more of a team.

It was still early afternoon when Athos and D’ar took the SUV to the paint store, but it seemed a lot later to D’ar. When they got to the paint section, however, he came to a dead stop. There were so many little cards with colors on them that it was mind boggling. Who knew there were so many colors?

Athos stood next to him and looked equally stunned. Not for long, though.

“I find when I’m out of my depth, it helps to enlist the help of an expert,” Athos told him. “Porthos has some experience with painting and gave me some recommendations. Let’s see if we can find a store employee who can help us locate the brands he suggested.”

Aramis wasn’t with them to charm a salesperson seemingly out of thin air, so finding someone to help them took longer than it had when they were clothes shopping. Eventually, however, they had a store employee to talk to and Athos seemed to be convinced that the man knew what he was talking about. He helped them narrow it down to a choice of interior paint that wasn’t supposed to smell too much. Unfortunately, he couldn’t assist with regards to picking out a color.

“If it helps, I took a photo of the rug,” Athos pulled it up on his phone. “Keep in mind that the color isn’t entirely true, due to the phone’s limitations, but it doesn’t need to match 100% anyway.”

“You want me to choose?” D’ar squeaked.

“Of course, it’s your room,” Athos calmly answered. “Besides, you’re the artist and are more likely to have a better eye for color.”

D’ar looked at the selection of color cards. Even in just the non-smelly brand that the store guy had suggested, there were a lot to choose from.

“Your comforter is blue and the rug is predominantly blue, although it has some accent color. See, there’s a lot of burnt orange in it,” Athos pointed out the photo of the rug. “The first decision is if you want the walls blue or orange. Or would you prefer to repaint them white?”

“Blue,” D’ar said promptly. That decision wasn’t hard at all.

“If it helps narrow things down a bit, I’d suggest staying away from the darkest of blues. Unless you want your room to feel like a cave.”  
D’ar shook his head. “No, no caves.”

It took a little time, but he finally picked out a blue that wasn’t too dark, but also didn’t look babyish. The color card said it was called ‘Daydreams in Azure,’ but Athos said the color was commonly called French blue. D’ar didn’t care; he just liked the color.

“Don’t we need brushes and stuff?” D’ar asked as they got into line to pay. All they were getting was cans of paint and rolls of blue tape.

“No, we’ll be borrowing those from Porthos,” Athos explained. “In fact, that’s our next stop.”

Porthos, as it turned out, also lived in an apartment, but his was the lower level of a townhouse. The big man was waiting for them.

“Got some painting to do, huh?” Porthos greeted them. “Finally get to hang that sculpture of yours.”

“It was only delivered yesterday,” Athos’ lips twitched, so D’ar knew he wasn’t as exasperated as he sounded.

“That’s an eternity for a kid,” Porthos winked at D’ar, but the look the man gave Athos was a little more serious. “Some kids more than others.”

“Point taken,” Athos nodded solemnly. “We’ll be prepping the room today and painting tomorrow.”

“What brand did you get?” Porthos asked and when Athos told him, he nodded his head. “Good choice, not a lot of VOCs with that one.”

“What’s a VOC?” D’ar asked. The guy at the store had mentioned it too, but D’ar had been too shy to ask.

“Technically, it’s a volatile organic compound,” Porthos explained. “It just means that some of the chemicals in the paint are evaporating. That makes it smell bad, sort of like your walls are farting.”

Athos rolled his eyes. “Nice analogy.”

Porthos winked at D’ar again. “I try.”

D’ar couldn’t help but giggle at the interplay between the two friends.

“If it’s not too much trouble, could we borrow your supplies so we can actually apply our non-farting paint onto the walls?” Athos asked with exaggerated dignity.   
D’ar giggled again. The word ‘fart’ sounded so funny when Athos said it.

“C’mon, we’ll get you loaded up.” Porthos put actions to words, leading out the back door.

D’ar was pleasantly surprised to see that the townhouse had a patch of grass, although it was even smaller than what had been at the Duras house. It might have been larger if not for the space that the shed in the back corner took up, the very place that Porthos was leading them.

When Porthos unlocked the shed, D’ar was taken aback by the amount of tools it stored. He took another look at the yard. No, it wasn’t big enough to need all of that stuff.

“What’s all this for?” D’ar asked.

Porthos had been rooting around in the shed, obviously looking for something, but stopped long enough to answer D’ar’s question. “My landlord owns four buildings on this block and he’s getting older. Leon started having a hard time keeping up with maintenance, so we made a deal. I do the simple upkeep and repairs for him and I get a little bumped off my rent. I also get to use any of the tools for my own projects whenever I want.”

D’ar didn’t want to be nosy, but his curiosity was pricked. “What kind of projects?”

“Habitat for Humanity,” Athos jumped in when Porthos seemed reluctant to answer. “Porthos volunteers, helping to build house for people who need them but can’t afford them on their own.”

“Cool.” D’ar had once shared a foster home with a boy who’d been taken from his parents because they were homeless. Darren had really missed his folks.

“It’s not just me, Aramis and your brother pitch in too.” Porthos said gruffly.

“When you shame us into it,” Athos didn’t let the subject drop. “The impetus is all you.”

“Taught your brother everything he knows about painting.” Porthos changed the subject. “Which, come to think of it, isn’t all that much. You sure you don’t want some help?”

D’ar felt his stomach drop. He liked Porthos, but was looking forward to doing the project with Athos. To his immense relief, Athos almost immediately shook his head.

“No, thank you, I think we can manage.” Athos waved off the offer of help. “It’s just the one room and we have two sets of hands.”

“Famous last words,” Porthos winked at D’ar. “You can always call if you get in over your head.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Athos assured him. The small twitch of the lips that Athos gave D’ar when Porthos wasn’t looking, though, was reassuring.

It took the three of them to carry all the supplies Porthos thought they would need out to the SUV. There were brushes and rollers, not to mentions pans and tarps. D’ar would have started to rethink just needing the two of them to finish the project, but Athos looked completely at ease, so he figured that they could handle it.

“All right, that’s it, then. You’re all set.” Porthos said as he looked at the back of the SUV in satisfaction.

“Thank you,” Athos said, offering his hand to his friend.

Porthos just looked at Athos’ proffered hand with a grin and used it to pull his friend in for a quick hug. Much to D’ar’s relief, the big man didn’t do the same to him. Instead, Porthos just ruffled D’ar’s hair.

“Try not to get any paint in your beard this time,” Porthos warned Athos as he walked back to his front door. “Although, come to think of it, the color D’ar picked out might match your eyes.”

D’ar gave his brother a startled look, but didn’t ask. Athos just sighed.

“It was the one time and it was just a little paint,” Athos explained, raising his voice for what he said next. “In fact, it wouldn’t have been an issue at all if someone had bothered to tell me it was there.”

Porthos laughed heartily and gave them a jaunty salute before going inside.

“I’ll tell you if you get paint in your beard,” D’ar promised Athos.

“That would be much appreciated,” Athos replied solemnly, but D’ar could see the twinkle in his eye.

“Are we going to paint now?” D’ar asked as they got back into the SUV.

Athos looked at him thoughtfully. “We can’t paint today, but we can get the room ready. I was thinking some grocery shopping was in order, but if you don’t mind scrounging for breakfast in the morning, I think we can get started on that now.”

“Yes,” D’ar crowed, but then remembered his manners. “I mean, I don’t mind eating whatever’s available for breakfast in the morning if we could get started. Please.”  
“All right, I won’t make you wait any more, let’s get home and get to work,” Athos smiled at D’ar’s enthusiasm.

By New York standards, Porthos lived relatively close to the office. The distance could be walked, if you had enough time. Driving, it didn’t take long at all. Once there, it took the two brothers a couple of trips to bring everything up.

Athos grabbed a roll of the blue tape and tossed another one at D’ar, who caught it easily. “The most tedious part of the painting process is also the most important, we have to tape off anything that we don’t want the paint to cover.”

D’ar followed his older brother into the bedroom and, together, they moved his bed away from the wall. Athos then showed D’ar how to carefully line up the tape against the wooden baseboards, as well as the frames of the doors and windows.

“We’re going to need a lot of tape,” D’ar looked around the room.

“Don’t worry, we’re prepared.” Athos got a step stool out from a closet. “Porthos no doubt is skilled enough that he can paint the corners where the walls meet the ceiling without needing tape, but I lack his talent. I’ll do the taping up here while you start it down there.”

Athos showed D’ar how to line up the tape properly and press down so that no paint leaked underneath. Soon D’ar was working on his own, tongue stuck between his teeth as he concentrated.

The brothers attacked their tasks silently at first, but not for long.

“Good work,” Athos said.

D’ar look up at him and was relieved to see that Athos was taping at the same pace. D’ar wanted to go faster, but even more, he didn’t want to mess up. If Athos was going the same speed, he wouldn’t think that D’ar was slacking off.

“Thanks.”

Athos got off the ladder and moved it a few feet before he started the conversation again. “You did your math homework, you said. What do you have left?”  
“English and social studies,” It was hard not to sigh as he answered; homework was not D’ar’s favorite subject to talk about it.'\

D’ar must not have hidden his feelings well enough, because Athos gave him a sympathetic look. “You don’t like those as much as math, right?”

“Yeah,” D’ar admitted. “Math is a puzzle, but this other stuff is all memorizing and reading.”

To his surprise, Athos agreed with him – at least to an extent.

“It can be that way, I suppose,” Athos said. “It all depends on the approach your teacher takes. What is your English assignment?”

D’ar sighed. “A book report on ‘Where the Red Fern Grows.’”

Athos frowned. “That sounds familiar, but not necessarily in a good way. What is it about?”

“It’s about a boy who saves up the money to buy hunting dogs and when he gets them, he trains them better than any dogs around,” D’ar ripped off the next piece of tape with more force than was necessary. “But then both dogs die.”

“That sounds . . . .” Athos struggled for words before finally finishing his sentence. “. . . a little intense for a children’s book, actually.”

“At least it’s better than ‘Old Yeller’ or ‘The Yearling,’” D’ar said, scowling at his roll of tape. He sighed. “In both of those books, a kid has to kill a pet.”

“That’s awful.” Athos really did sound appalled. “I imagine that those were difficult books to read.”

“Yeah.” D’ar sighed. “I know it’s just a book, but it’s not fair that even pretend animals had to die just to teach us kids something.” 

D’ar knew everything he needed to know about death – and then some.

“Perhaps that’s a comment you can make in your book report,” Athos suggested.

After thinking about it for a moment, D’ar just shook his head. “Mrs. Jameson doesn’t care what we think, she just wants us to answer the questions right.”  
Athos didn’t look impressed. “Sounds like she’s not the most imaginative teacher.”

D’ar tried to put Mrs. Jameson and the idea of imagination together and came up short. After hearing some other kids joke about it, he’d realized that she really did have a specific outfit for every day of the week. He couldn’t picture Mrs. Jameson wearing a Tuesday outfit on a Friday, let alone asking them for an opinion on an assignment.

“It’s okay,” D’ar said. “I’ve had the book assigned at another school before; I should be able to answer the questions.” He brightened after he thought of something. “At least this time I can write it up on the computer and not by hand. That’ll be awesome.”

Athos had seemed disturbed by what D’ar told him about the books, but brightened up at his brother’s enthusiasm about the laptop. “After that, I’m almost afraid to ask about your social studies assignment.”

“Comparative ancient religions,” D’ar answered. “We’re studying Greek and Roman mythology.”

“I’ve always enjoyed mythology,” Athos said.

“The stories about the minotaur and stuff are cool,” D’ar agreed. “But it’s all so old.”

“That they are, but the ancient Greek and Roman societies were in many ways the building blocks of our own,” Athos told him. Just when D’ar began to get worried that he was about to get a dry lecture, Athos unexpectedly grinned at him. “Who do you think would win in a fight, Hercules or the Hulk?”

"The Hulk?" They'd watched comic book movie the night before, but Athos hadn't seemed as interested in it as D'ar was.

Athos looked a little embarrassed. “Porthos is a big fan. I may have been persuaded to go with him to a comic book-themed movie or two.”

D’ar had a sudden revelation, like he had before with Aramis’ hat. “But you liked the movies.”

“I did,” Athos admitted sheepishly. “It can’t all be Tennyson and the classics.”

After that, their conversation took a much livelier turn. Before D’ar knew it, he’d finished taping all the baseboards and window frames. Athos did the ceiling and the door frames and the two brothers met at the one area that had yet to be dealt with.

“Do we have enough tape for that?” D’ar asked, looking at the built-in bookshelves.

“We won’t rely on tape alone,” Athos explained. “We’ll tape a tarp up to cover instead, but we’ll do that tomorrow, right before we start.”

D’ar’s eyes darted over to where the wall sculpture was laid out across his desk. Would they just put a tarp over it too? That hardly seemed like enough protection.

“Why don’t we move that out into the living room?” Athos suggested. His expression, when D’ar looked at him, was full of understanding. “We don’t want to take any risks with it.”

Relieved, D’ar proudly did as Athos recommended and carefully placed it on one of the chairs. When he went back to his room, Athos was already putting away the supplies. D’ar looked at the clock and was surprised to discover that most of the afternoon had gone by.

“It’s too late to start painting,” D’ar said. Athos had mentioned that before and now D’ar understood why.

“We’ll start first thing in the morning,” Athos promised. “It won’t take long and the walls will have the whole day to dry and for the fumes to clear out.”  
“I thought the paint wasn’t supposed to smell?” D’ar asked.

“It shouldn’t smell as much, but there probably will be some odor,” Athos told him. “It’s a good thing we left some errands for tomorrow; we can be gone for the worst of it.”

“So what do we do now?” D’ar asked, feeling lost. So far his time with Athos had been full of things to do.

Athos shrugged. “It’s been a busy day. You could always watch some television and relax until time for supper.”

“What about you?” D’ar asked.

His question got the small tug of the lips that was Athos’ usual smile. “The bad thing about owning a business is that it’s rare to get a complete day off. I’ve some paperwork to attend to.”

That decided D’ar. If his brother was going to work, then he would too. “I’ve got some homework to finish.” 

And, since his conversation with Athos about mythology, he wasn’t even dreading all of it.

The two brothers took up the respective spots at the kitchen table, each with his own laptop. In addition, D’ar had some other materials from school. He’d had computer classes at school, so although it was his first try at doing homework on his own computer, he did know his way around one.

As D’ar looked at the handouts with the questions he was supposed to answer for his social studies class, he was pleased to note that he already knew most of the answers, thanks to his conversation with Athos. He consulted his book anyway, to make sure he got the spelling right. Some of those ancient names were weird and he would be mortified to get it wrong, not after Athos had taken the time to explain things.

With that task quickly finished, D’ar couldn’t put off his book report any longer. With a heavy sigh, he pulled out his battered copy of “Where the Red Fern Grows,” but then shot a quick glance at Athos, worried that his brother had heard him. 

D’ar first carefully retyped the questions from the handout into his computer. As he did, he realized that he again knew the answers. All he had to do was think about the other times he’d been assigned the book in school and what the correct answers had been for those book reports. Using the computer meant that Mrs. Jameson wouldn’t complain about his “chicken scratch” handwriting. Better yet, the computer checked D’ar’s grammar and spelling for him. As he saved his work, D’ar felt a sense of satisfaction that was rare for him to feel about an English assignment. He maybe even had a chance at getting a decent grade.

“Do you have a good stopping place?” Athos asked.

“I’m done, all I need to do is print it,” D’ar told his brother. “You said I could do that downstairs?”

“Correct, but I suggest you do that tomorrow,” Athos was in the process of shutting down his own laptop. “I often find that its best to go back to a report after it’s sat for a day or two. That way I can better see mistakes I’d overlooked before.”

D’ar had no experience of his own, but nodded anyway. So far, Athos’ advice had been good.

“Hungry?” Athos asked.

His stomach chose that moment to rumble, which caused D’ar to flush with embarrassment. Athos, however, just smiled.

“I guess that’s my answer,” Athos got up and headed to the kitchen. “I know I said we’d be scrounging tomorrow for breakfast, but let’s see what we can find for supper too. I imagine that there are some foodstuffs in here that need to be used before they go bad.

D’ar trailed after Athos as his brother walked into the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator. Athos looked at the contents for a moment. “Do you like stir fry?”

“Yeah,” D’ar readily answered. Mrs. Duras never made it, so it had been a while and sounded really good to him.

Athos flashed him a quick grin. “Perfect. It’s one of my few go-to recipes. The other is spaghetti, but after you’ve had Mama O’s, I despair of mine ever living up to hers.”

“It’s probably great,” D’ar defended his brother staunchly.

“It’s edible, but I know which of the two I would eat, if I had to choose,” Athos replied. “Set these on the counter, please.”

Athos started handing D’ar items from the fridge. Soon he’d piled up broccoli, carrots, celery, cabbage and even some sprouts and pea pods. When Athos was done with the cold stored items, he dug through the cabinets and brought out a bag of rice and a small can of water chestnuts.

“I believe a division of labor is in order,” Athos stated. “Do you want washing duty or chopping duty?”

That was an easy decision.

“I’ll do the washing,” D’ar offered, throwing an uneasy look at the block of knives.

Before he began cleaning the vegetables, Athos talked D’ar through the process of starting a pot of rice boiling. Athos himself was cutting a piece of beef he’d retrieved from the fridge into strips. D’ar didn’t like the thunk-thunk-thunk noise of the knife chopping, so he was glad to busy himself with draining the water chestnuts and cleaning anything that needed it.

In shorter, Athos has an absolutely huge bowl of cut vegetables.

“We’re not going to eat all of that, are we?” D’ar was hungry, but not that hungry.

Athos’ lips twitched. “It’ll cook down significantly in the wok, you’ll see. And what we don’t finish today can hold over until tomorrow.”

D’ar smiled shyly. “That’s not what you meant about scrounging for breakfast, is it?”

Actually, it didn’t sound half bad to him.

“I’ve had worst breakfasts,” Athos replied. “But we still have bagels and peanut butter if it doesn't suit you.”

Athos dug a strange-looking pan out of a large cabinet. He told D’ar that it was a wok and got it warming on top of the stove. Soon some oil and other liquids were added and, once Athos deemed it hot enough, he added the meat to the pan. It sizzled as it cooked and D’ar’s stomach rumbled at the great aroma coming of it.  
“Okay, the meat’s done,” Athos watched the wok constantly, moving the contents around so that they wouldn’t burn. “The vegetables won’t take as long to cook, so while I finish, I’d appreciate it if you could set the table.”

By the time everything was on the table, D’ar had gone from hungry to starving. Athos gestured to D’ar to help himself and D’ar readily did, not feeling at all guilty at not waiting for his older brother. As soon as he had both rice and stir fry on his plate, D’ar dug in. Since steam was still coming off of it, he was smart enough to blow on it first, but his first bite was still pretty hot as he chewed. D’ar barely noticed.

“That’s really good!” D’ar exclaimed as soon as he’d swallowed.

Athos shrugged, but was clearly pleased with the praise. “It’s an easy enough way to clean out the refrigerator.”

“If cleaning tasted this good, I’d do it all the time,” D’ar said, talking around his second bite.

The brothers ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, but once the worst of his hunger had been taken care of, Athos started up a conversation.

“We have more to do tomorrow than just paint,” Athos said. “We need to get the grocery shopping done and pick up your clothes from Jack.”

D’ar’s appetite fled and not just because he’d already eaten half of the food on his plate. The last two errands that Athos had brought up had one reason behind them – school.

“D’ar?” Athos sounded concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I just don’t like school very much, I suppose all kids feel that way.” D’ar shrugged.

He briefly thought of confiding in Athos why he hated his current school so much. It wasn’t the school itself as much as it was the other students. Still, all kids had to go to school, it was a law or something. Besides, ever leaving Lupiac, all of his schools had sucked.

“Not all children hate it, not all the time anyway,” Athos sighed. “So much has changed for you in such a short amount of time that I hesitate to make an adjustment on your school too. The school year is almost over, do you think you can stick it out for a couple of more months? If not, both Judge Freddy and Mrs. Royalton said there is an alternative.”

It was tempting, but Athos had already done so much for D’ar that D’ar hesitated to ask to switch schools immediately. He knew from experience that it wasn’t as easy as it sounded and he didn’t want to cause even more work for his brother. A new school would probably be the same anyway and at least D’ar knew the kids to avoid in his current one.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” D’ar said, making sure to sound more confident than he felt. “Like you said, it’s only for a little while longer.”

“Do you have any thoughts on what kind of school you’d like to attend?” Athos shocked D’ar by asking him. “You’ve been to all sorts of schools by this time, is there a type of school that you like or works well for you?”

D’ar swallowed. “You’re asking me?”

Athos nodded solemnly. “Of course, you’re the one who’ll be spending time there.” He shrugged. “Still, I will admit that the final decision will be mine, but I would like your input.”

“I don’t like wearing a tie,” D’ar said, thinking of what Trevor had said at the soccer game. “I don’t think I’d like a school that so fussy about what you wear.”

“Uniforms aren’t that uncommon,” Athos’ eyes were twinkling. “But we should be able to find you an acceptable school that doesn’t have a neckwear requirement.”

After the two were finished eating, it was only a moment’s work to clean off the table, load up the dishwasher and wipe down the counter and stove. When everything was again spic and span, the two brothers looked at each other. D’ar wasn’t sure what to do or say, but felt marginally better when it was obvious that Athos felt the same way.

“We seem to have an evening ahead of us with no plans,” Athos put his hands in his pockets. “How would you like to go to a movie?”

“A movie?” D’ar asked. “Really?”

“Really,” Athos repeated. “Since you’ve been here, you’ve been subject to marathon shopping trips, a clothes’ fitting, errands and chores. I think you deserve some fun.”

“But it’s all been fun,” D’ar protested. The days with Athos had been so full of new things and nice people that even the chores hadn’t been too unpleasant. “Besides, I played soccer this morning and you took me to see horses yesterday.”

Athos’ eyebrows shot up. “Are you trying to talk me out of it? Don’t you like movies?

“I love movies,” D’ar admitted. He hadn’t been to a movie since his dad died. “It’s just that they’re expensive.”

“You let me worry about the money,” Athos had a determined look in his eye. “Grab your coat, the theater’s likely to be chillier than it is outside.”

D’ar happily complied and soon the two were in the SUV, headed towards the theater.

“What’s the last movie you saw?” Athos asked.

“Wreck-It Ralph,” D’ar answered, a little embarrassed because it was a little kids’ movie. “I was a lot younger then.”

“I see,” Athos said dryly. “Well then, you’re overdue. Hopefully you’ll still enjoy them now that you’re older.”

When they got to the theater, it was pretty busy, probably because it was a Saturday night. D’ar saw a lot of grown-ups, especially couples, but not all that many kids his own age. They got in line to buy tickets.

“What would you like to see?” Athos asked him. 

D’ar looked at the list scrolling on the electronic screen behind the man selling tickets. “I don’t know.” It had been a long time as he’d thought about movies, other than cursing his Transformers backpack. “There’s so many.”

“Well, for the sake of my dignity, can we skip any of the animated movies?” Athos asked, looking at D’ar with hope in his face.

“I think so,” D’ar said solemnly, although he ruined the affect when a giggle escaped. Just like it sounded funny when his brother said ‘fart,’ he couldn’t imagine Athos watching a cartoon.

“And no R rated movies either,” Athos said. He seemed to sense that having so many choices was difficult for D’ar. “That ought to whittle things down considerably. In fact,” he looked at the movie list, “it looks like an adaptation of the Tarzan story and a comedy about catching ghosts are our best choices. They’re both PG-13, but I think you can handle it. What would you prefer?”

Since it was his first movie in years, D’ar gave it some thought. Tarzan sounded good, mostly because D’ar loved animals and it would probably have a lot of them in it. The problem was, though, that D’ar had learned the hard way that movies with animals tended to show animals getting hurt or killed. That wouldn’t be fun and, besides, D’ar wasn’t one to be afraid of ghosts.

“Would the catching ghosts one be okay?” D’ar asked.

Athos nodded at him. “Good choice.”

Soon their tickets were purchased and they were in the theater. Given that they’d just eaten supper, D’ar was surprised when Athos stopped at the concession stand. The look on his face was enough to make his brother chuckle.

“Yes, I know we just ate, but popcorn is mandatory for viewing a film,” Athos told him. “Somehow the movies are just never as good without it.”

When it was their turn, Athos ordered a large bucket of popcorn and two sodas. He specified root beer, telling D’ar it was because it was caffeine free. D’ar didn’t mind, all soda was good. When the girl behind the counter asked if butter was all right, Athos turned to D’ar.

“Do you want butter on the popcorn?” He asked.

D’ar nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, please.”

Athos smiled at him before turning back to the girl. “Yes. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind stopping filling the bucket midway for extra butter, I’d appreciate it.”  
“Yes, sir.”

Not only butter, but extra butter? D’ar gaped at his brother, but Athos just shrugged and winked at him.

“A man has to have one vice, doesn’t he?” Athos asked.

It didn’t seem the type of question that was expected to be answered, so D’ar just smiled. He wasn’t sure what Athos meant about a vice, but anything to do with extra butter on the popcorn was a-okay with D’ar.

“Grab some napkins, please,” Athos asked after he’d finished paying. He took a closer look at the popcorn bucket and the way the top glistened with butter. “A lot of napkins, if you will.”

Their theater wasn’t very crowded, even though the movie was about to start. As Athos moved towards one row in particular, D’ar noticed that the theater seats looked different than any he’d seen before. They were much bigger and there didn’t seem to be as many of them.

“Here we go, seats nine and ten,” Athos sat in one chair and D’ar took the other. He sat in the chair gingerly and soon realized that his feet dangled off the floor.  
“What are the buttons on the side for?” D’ar asked, noticing them on the side by the arm.

“You can recline if you want,” Athos put action to words, showing D’ar how the seats worked.

“Cool,” D’ar first pushed one button and then the other, moving his seat up and back, with the part for his feet raising and lowering. After a few moments, he realized that Athos was watching him.

“Sorry,” he said contritely, putting his seat in a reclining position and leaving it there.

Athos just shook his head. “What for? Everyone experiments with it the first time. Besides, you’re young and the young are supposed to explore things new to them.”  
He thrust the popcorn bucket at D’ar and, feeling much less self conscious about his actions, D’ar took a nibble. The popcorn he’d had at the group home had been good, but whether it was the butter or being with Athos, the movie theater popcorn was way better. After he’d had his first handful, though, D’ar saw why his brother had asked him to grab extra napkins. Extra butter tasted great, but was messy.

“Here,” D’ar rifled through the napkins and gave half to Athos. “I think you were right, we’re gonna need these.”

Athos nodded his thanks, but then the theater darkened and both of their attention was diverted to the big screen. D’ar felt a thrill of excitement. Not even a week ago, he’d been grateful for an opportunity to watch an old black and white video at the Duras house and now he was out at a real theater with his very own brother.  
The movie was very good. The ghosts weren’t all that scary and after having seen Mrs. Royalton’s willingness to face off against Emily Duras armed only with a little can of spray, D’ar didn’t doubt for a minute that ladies would make good ghost catchers. In fact, he’d almost pity the ghost that came up against Judge Freddy. He’d put her hinky meter up against one of those fancy gadgets any time.

They stayed through the credits and D’ar giggled as he watched all the army and police guys dancing. He vaguely heard Athos saying something about no wonder Constance had told him that the credits were the best part, but he was too busy watching to wonder about it. Finally, though, the credits finished rolling and the theater lights came up.

“What did you think?” Athos asked as they left the theater.

“It was good!” D’ar enthused. Athos had been right about the theater being chilly too. He’d put his coat on halfway through the film and so didn’t have to bother with it as they made their way outside.

“I enjoyed it too,” Athos agreed. “The original remains my favorite, but the remake was good in its own way.”

D’ar came to a full stop, almost causing Athos to walk into him. “There was another Ghostbusters movie?”

Athos chuckled softly. “Yes, a long time before you were born.” He tilted his head as he thought for a moment. “Actually, it was almost before I was born too.”

“Oh,” D’ar’s enthusiasm waned. “It wouldn’t have had Patty or Holtzman in it, then, would it?”

“You haven’t seen it?” Athos asked, clearly surprised. “Well, we’ll have to rectify that lack as soon as possible. I suspect that Porthos has a copy; I’ll suggest it for our next movie night.”

“Cool,” D’ar liked the idea of being part of a regular activity even more than seeing the movie.

They chatted about the film they’d just seen on the way back to the apartment. It wasn’t that long of a drive, but D’ar still found himself yawning almost continuously before the end of it.

“It’s been a long day for you,” Athos said as they entered the apartment.

D’ar interrupted him. “But a good one.”

Athos’ lips twitched as he made the correction. “A long, but a good day. I would appreciate it, however, if you’d gather up the items that we kept out from Jack doing adjustments on and put those that have been worn into the washing machine. We’ll want them clean for when we drop them off tomorrow.”

“Oka-…” D’ar’s response was broken off with a yawn and he smiled sheepishly. “Sorry about that. I can stay awake to get it done.”

“Just get it started,” Athos told him. “I’m going to be up a while so I can put it into the dryer for you.” He winked at D’ar. “Just this once.”

The wink went a long way towards reassuring D’ar that Athos truly didn’t mind. Even so, as D’ar gathered up the dirty clothes and got the washing machine started, he was determined to stay awake to take care of it anyway. He’d promised Athos that he could do his own laundry and he wasn’t going to fail on his very first attempt.  
After the washing machine was humming with activity, D’ar changed into his pajamas, grabbed his sketchbook and went back to the living room. Athos’ shaggy head was bent over his laptop and he looked up in mild surprise as D’ar entered the room.

“Movies make me sleepy, but I’m not really tired,” D’ar explained as he settled onto the couch. As he spoke, he did his best to contain the latest yawn. “I just thought I’d do some sketching for a while.”

“All right,” Athos looked like he was going to say more, but seemed to change his mind. “You can turn the television on if you’d like.”

D’ar shook his head. If he turned the TV on, he’d fall asleep for sure. “No, this is fine.”

After opening his sketchbook to the unfinished sketch of the wall sculpture, D’ar got started. Since they’d placed the sculpture on one of the living room chairs, D’ar had a clear view of it, although that wasn’t really the problem. He could see the sculpture well enough – but only when his eyes were open. His eyelids kept getting heavier and heavier, but he managed not to fall asleep. He also hadn’t progressed on his drawing very much, though, when the washing machine buzzer finally chimed.

It was harder than it should have been to get off the couch and transfer the clothing into the dryer, but D’ar managed. He leaned against the dryer until he realized that its gentle shaking movement was making him ever sleepier. With a sigh, he pulled himself away and went back to the living room. Athos was still at the table and again looked up when D’ar walked in.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use something for my sweet tooth,” Athos said. “We still have that chocolate gelato that Mamma O sent home with us. Join me for a bowl?”

The offer woke D’ar up. Chocolate ice cream at, his eyes darted over to the clock, 10:30 at night? That was unheard of – not just at the Duras, but any of his other fosters either.

“Sure,” D’ar smiled shyly. “Sounds good.”

Athos seemed happy to get away from his own work for a few minutes and soon they were seated at the breakfast bar, a bowl of ice cream in front of each of them and a jar of peanut butter in between them.

“That is good,” D’ar exclaimed when he took a bite. He couldn’t believe he’d never tried peanut butter on chocolate ice cream before.

“Yes. It would have scandalized my mother’s pastry chef to hear me say it, but sometimes the simplest pleasures are the best,” Athos licked his spoon off and bumped shoulders with D’ar.

They ate in contented silence for a few moments until D’ar decided he’d better slow down or risk getting brain freeze. “What are you working on? Is it something you can tell me about?”

Athos considered for a moment and then nodded his head. “I can give you the generalities, which means I can describe the situation, but not give the specific client name.”

“Okay,” D’ar agreed. That sounded fair.

“We’re working for a restaurant manager who believes his employees are stealing from him,” Athos explained.

D’ar frowned. “Why would someone take money from the people who pay their check?”

Athos waved his spoon at him. “Very good question. Some of them are angry because they feel they aren’t getting paid fairly and some of them are desperate for money, but most are simply dishonest people.”

Outside of Lupiac, D’ar was beginning to learn that there were a lot of dishonest people. It hurt his heart to think of it, but he supposed there were bad people in Lupiac too and he’d just been too little to know it.

“Do they take money out of the cash registers?” D’ar asked. He was curious, but mostly he just wanted to keep the conversation going.

“Nothing so blatant as that,” Athos said after swallowing his latest spoonful. “That sort of theft is easy to detect and, with so many customers paying by card nowadays, isn’t as lucrative. No, this thief is smarter than that. He or she is taking bottles of wine from the inventory and probably selling them black market.”  
“Wine?” D’ar wrinkled his nose in distaste. He’d never tasted the stuff, but his dad had usually enjoyed a glass with Sunday dinner and D’ar remembered how it’d reeked. Why would anyone want to drink something that smelled that bad? 

His expression must have shown his opinion, because Athos chuckled softly.

“Wine is something you learn to appreciate,” he paused dramatically. “But only when you’re older.”

D’ar shrugged. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Fair enough,” Athos nodded solemnly. “But trust me when I say that the adult palate typically has an appreciation for fine wine and the restaurant that our client manages serves very fine wine.”

“It still seems like a weird thing to steal,” D’ar didn’t understand. 

“Wine can be expensive,” Athos explained. “It’s not so very unusual to pay $300-400 a bottle at a high end restaurant.”

D’ar’s eyes popped. “$400?”

Athos smirked. “Granted, restaurants mark their product up horrifically, but you can see the temptation. New York City is full of enterprising people with low moral standards who sell knock-offs or items that supposedly fell off a delivery truck and the like. Wine is no different.”

“So how are you going to catch them?” D’ar asked, giving up on understanding why anyone would be willing to pay that much for something you just drank. It must be a grown-up thing.

“By putting our people undercover as restaurant staff,” Athos said. “Both Constance and Aramis have been recently hired as wait staff.”

D’ar took another spoonful of ice cream and peanut butter, swirling it around in his mouth as he thought. “Constance as a waitress? She seems a little - . . . .”

He broke off what he was about to say, belatedly realizing it wasn’t very complimentary about one of his brother’s friends. Athos, however, had no problem with following where D’ar was going with his comment.

“Bossy?” Athos finished D’ar’s sentence and smiled broadly when D’ar blushed. “It’s a fair description, although I would suggest being a little more delicate about it when talking directly to the lady. In any case, despite her natural tendency to like to arrange things, Constance does very well at undercover too.”

“TV and movies make undercover work sound dangerous,” D’ar commented. “But pretending to be a waiter doesn’t sound very risky to me.”

“That’s the truth about private detective work,” Athos told him. “It’s not nearly as glamorous as Hollywood makes it out to be.”

“But you like it,” D’ar said, not quite making it a question. He’d finished his ice cream, but moved his spoon around the bowl anyway, not wanting the conversation to be over.

“I do,” Athos acknowledged the observation with a small smile. “It’s a puzzle to me, much like math is to you. I like figuring out what’s wrong and then advising our clients on how to fix their problem. The cases we investigate involve people, however, which are usually far less predictable than numbers are.”

D’ar thought about that, but before he could respond, two things happened simultaneously. One, he yawned and, two, the dryer buzzed that it was finished.  
“I think that marks the end of your evening,” Athos said. “It’s getting late and you should be in bed.”

“Okay,” D’ar agreed, but stubbornly added, “as soon as I get the clothes folded.”

Athos pursed his lips and D’ar couldn’t tell if his brother was annoyed or amused. He worried that maybe he’d pushed Athos too far, but Athos just smiled and shook his head.

“You are a determined one, aren’t you?” Athos said.

“I told you I could do my own laundry and I will,” D’ar replied, encouraged to respond that way because Athos didn’t seem mad at him.

Athos stood and when D’ar did also, he gently took his younger brother by the shoulders. “I appreciate your work ethic, I truly do, but not to the detriment of your health. I only let you stay up this late because it’s not a school night.”

“All right,” D’ar agreed, yawning again. “It is kinda late.”

“That it is,” Athos turned him towards the hallway that went to the laundry room and gave him a gentle push. “Go.”

D’ar obediently did as he was told. There weren’t many clothes and that was why the dryer had finished so quickly. It didn’t take long for D’ar to transfer them to the waiting laundry hamper, but Athos was back at his computer by the time he brought the basket to the living room.

“That was quick,” Athos looked up to smile at him.

“There wasn’t much,” D’ar said as he put the basket on the couch. “I guess I’ll go to bed now.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Athos told him. “No rush in the morning, we can get the painting done after we have breakfast.”

“Good night, then,” D’ar said awkwardly.

He thought about hugging Athos, but it didn’t seem quite right. Instead he waited until Athos wished him a good night as well before heading to his room. Once there, D’ar hesitated over locking the door. Athos had been nothing but nice to him and so D’ar already figured out that the lock wasn’t necessary, but it was still such a treat to have that he couldn’t resist using it.

Once secure, D’ar crawled under the covers and was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Either because of the movie or eating ice cream so close to going to bed, D’ar had strange dreams. He first dreamt that he was hunting ghosts at his school, but that somehow morphed into going undercover as a lunchroom assistant in order to find out if any of the lunch ladies were selling ice cream on the black market.

Although odd, the dreams weren’t enough to wake D’ar and he slept until his nose was tickled by a very welcome smell. He lay in bed, only half-awake and enjoying the scent when he realized that it was the smell of bacon cooking. It took another moment for him to remember that bacon didn’t cook itself and his eyes popped open. Athos must be up already.

D’ar looked at the clock and groaned when he realized it was after 9 am already. He jumped out of bed, not bothering to straighten the sheets before he headed towards the kitchen.

He was right – Athos was up. Not only that, but Athos was at the stove and fixing breakfast. He looked up when D’ar walked in and smiled at him.  
“I thought the bacon would do the trick,” Athos said. “There are worse ways to wake up.”

“I’m sorry I slept so late,” D’ar sat at the breakfast bar and put his head in his hands. He was up and moving, but not really awake yet.

“You had a late night,” Athos commented as he put a glass of milk in front of D’ar. “It’ll be an earlier bedtime for you tonight.”

D’ar looked at the breakfast fixings with confusion. In addition to the bacon, there were scrambled eggs and toast waiting on plates. “I thought you said we’d have to scrounge for breakfast this morning?”

Athos added the now-cooked bacon to the two plates and slid one in front of D’ar before sitting next to his brother. 

“When it was clear you needed extra sleep this morning, I made a quick run to the bodega we stopped at yesterday,” Athos explained. “We’ll still have to do a full grocery trip later today, but given we have work to do this morning, I thought it best that we start the day off with a decent breakfast. I left a note in case you woke while I was gone, but it wasn’t needed.”

Now that he was awake, D’ar found he was ravenously hungry and dove into his breakfast with relish. “Thanks, this is good.”

With the way Athos was concentrating on his own breakfast, he must have been hungry too. D’ar ate quickly at first, only slowing down as his stomach began to get full. As he did, he took a closer look at Athos and realized that his brother was dressed in grubby the clothes, the first time that D’ar had seen him look shabby. He was wearing worn out jeans and a ragged t-shirt, both of them sporting splotches of color.

Athos noticed his attention. “These are the clothes I save for when I’m doing dirty work, like helping Porthos with one of his Habitat for Humanity projects.”

“Oh.” D’ar’s dropped his fork when he realized something. “All the clothes we kept for me are new. Should I maybe get the old stuff out of the dumpster?”

“Absolutely not,” Athos’ answer was firm and immediate. D’ar flinched a little, wondering if he’d made his brother mad and Athos’ expression gentled. “We’ve already established that you’re no longer a foster child, D’ar, and I won’t have you wearing anything that makes you feel that way again. Sweats and t-shirts aren’t very expensive, so you can wear those and, if you get paint on anything, so be it. Then you’ll have grubby clothes of your own to wear to do dirty household chores.”

His brother’s reassurance made D’ar feel weird. He wanted to believe Athos, and mostly he did, but it was still a lot to adjust to. He looked down at his plate, but not for long because Athos tapped him on his shoulder.

“Why don’t you go change while I get these loaded into the dishwasher,” Athos gestured at the breakfast dishes. “The sooner we get started, the closer you’ll be to being able to hang that sculpture of yours.”

D’ar smiled gratefully at his brother, but did insist on loading his own plate and utensils. After that, he scampered to his room and made quick work of both dressing and straightening the sheets on his bed. When he came back to the main area, Athos was going through the supplies they’d picked up from Porthos the day before.  
“Porthos is thorough,” Athos held up two pieces of brightly colored fabric. “He even provided protection for our hair.”

D’ar gingerly took the one handed to him. Mrs. Duras wore a headscarf when it was windy so that her hair didn’t get messed up, which didn’t exactly make him too keen on wearing one himself. “We’re supposed to put this on our heads?”

“Yes, like so,” Athos expertly tied his over his hair. D’ar was happy that it made his brother look like a pirate more than it made him look like a girl.  
“Like this?” D’ar made an attempt to swaddle his own head, without much success.

Athos chuckled. “Here, let me help you out.”

Soon, D’ar’s hair was covered. “Okay, what next?”

“Next, we cover everything we don’t want paint to get on with a tarp,” Athos handed D’ar an armful of plastic sheeting. “That includes the floor and your bed.”  
The plastic tarps were big pieces and, although they weren’t heavy, they were awkward to work with. Athos had longer arms and helped D’ar spread some of them out. They held them down with even more of the blue tape.

After the tarps were in place, they finally could get to the actual painting. Athos poured the blue liquid into pans and D’ar’s nose wrinkled at the smell.  
“I thought we got the fartless kind of paint?” D’ar asked.

Athos’ lips twitched. “We got the reduced VOC kind, but all paint has some sort of smell to it. We’ll open a window so that it doesn’t get too bad.”

Having fresh air helped and concentrating while Athos showed him how to apply the paint distracted D’ar from the smell even more. They settled on a division of labor much like with putting the tape up. D’ar had a steadier hand with the brush, so he painted around the wood trim, while Athos used the roller on larger sections of wall. Even so, Athos let D’ar try the roller too. It was fun. Not as much fun as playing soccer, but D’ar got a distinct feeling of satisfaction in watching the walls transform from a stark white to a friendlier blue.

With the two of them working together, it didn’t take as long as D’ar thought it would.

“What do you think?” Athos asked. They’d finished and the two brothers were in the middle of the room. Athos leaned against his paint roller as he surveyed their work.

D’ar did the same. “It looks really good, Athos. Thanks.” Remembering his promise from the day before, he took a careful look at Athos’ face. “And you didn’t get any paint in your beard, either.”

“Thank you,” Athos’ eyes twinkled. “Perhaps Porthos’ many painting lessons are finally paying off.”

They took the pans and brushes to the basement level, where there was a deep sink. Cleaning up wasn’t nearly as much fun as the painting had been, but D’ar felt a sense of pride working side by side with his brother.

“You should always take excellent care of your tools,” Athos explained as they worked on getting paint out of the brushes. “They are what allow you to do your best work, which not only can impact your reputation, but can also save your life.”

“Like when you were in the army?” D’ar asked. He was pretty sure that Athos wasn’t talking about paint brushes saving his life.

“Exactly,” Athos smiled at him. “Although, I’ll admit, the need for routine maintenance typically isn’t that dramatic.”

After cleaning everything, they brought up some fans and set them going in D’ar’s room to help with the smell. 

“It’s a good thing we have some errands to run so we can miss the worst of the odor,” Athos said after they were done.

“Yeah, it’s kind of stinky,” D’ar agreed. If the paint they’d chosen was the less smelly variety, he’d hate to think what the full-fart variety was like.

“All right, let’s clean up and get going,” Athos instructed. “Painting is hungry work.”

That was a suggestion that D’ar heartily agreed with. The clock said it was only a couple of hours since he’d had breakfast, but his stomach was claiming it was a lot longer.

Despite what Athos said, they made a quick stop at the Bonacieux house before eating. Athos didn’t knock. Instead, he had a key and knew the security code, letting them both in. D’ar hesitated to step inside at first, even though Athos gestured for him to do so.

“Constance and Jack are visiting his grandmother today,” Athos reassured him. “She told me to let ourselves in to do the clothing switch.”

The house felt eerily silent and D’ar was glad that there was a bag of clothing sitting in the front room waiting for them. He did not want to have to go deeper into the house to get his stuff. It didn’t take but a moment to exchange the altered clothing with what still needed to be tailored and the brothers didn’t wait around after their task was complete. D’ar breathed a deep sigh of relief when they were back in the SUV.

Athos was familiar with the neighborhood and took them to a restaurant that was still serving brunch, buffet-style. Once they were seated, Athos nodded at the buffet line.

“Would you like to order off the menu or have the brunch?” Athos asked. “It makes no difference to me.”

A lot of interesting smells were wafting from the direction of the buffet and other customers walked by with plates laden with all sorts of good-looking food. Breakfast seemed a distant memory.

“Buffet, please,” D’ar answered. 

Athos nodded at him. “Good choice.”

Since it wasn’t late in the day, Athos let D’ar order whatever kind of soda he wanted and after that, the two brothers hit the buffet line. Since he’d already had eggs earlier in the morning, D’ar concentrated on the more lunch-type foods. There were plenty to pick from. To his relief, Athos didn’t hang over his shoulder like D’ar was a little kid, instead trusting him to manage his own choices.

The brothers returned to the table at about the same time and for a few minutes, conversation was limited to comments about the food. Athos was fond of the roast beef while D’ar really liked the scalloped potatoes.

As he ate, D’ar watched the other people at the restaurant. Most of them were dressed casually as he and Athos, but a few of them were more dressed up. It didn’t occur to D‘ar why until he saw a Bible sticking out of an elderly woman’s purse.

“Oh,” D’ar said quietly, but Athos still heard him.

“Everything all right?” Athos asked. “You didn’t bite your tongue, did you?”

“No,” D’ar looked down, feeling silly. “It’s only that completely forgot about church until just now.”

“Ah,” Athos put his fork down and gave D’ar his complete attention. “Does that bother you?”

D’ar shrugged and took another bite of potatoes to give him time to think. “Not all of my fosters went to church, but Mrs. Duras was pretty strict about it. We went a couple of times a week.”

“Are you upset because you like going to church?” Athos asked him. “Or because you know your former foster mother would disapprove?”

It was a complicated question and D’ar gave it serious thought as he continued to eat his lunch. Athos didn’t rush him, but simply resumed his own meal while D’ar contemplated his answer.

“I like church,” D’ar finally declared. “When it’s someone like Father Frank giving the message. He said that God loved everybody. Some of the churches I went to with other fosters were okay too, but Mrs. Duras’ God seems mean. Her preacher said if you didn’t fear God you’d end up buried to your neck in sand and ants would eat your eyeballs while you were still alive.”

D’ar’d had nightmares for a week after that sermon.

While D’ar spoke, Athos’ lips thinned the way that happened when he was angry. His brother spoke, though, before D’ar could worry too much that Athos was angry at him.

“I think you’re old enough to realize that everyone believes in God differently.” When he spoke, Athos’ voice was gentle. “From what I’ve heard of Mrs. Duras, she is a most unpleasant woman. I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that the version of God that she believes in unpleasant as well.”

“Mrs. Duras was downright mean,” D’ar burst out. “I didn’t like living with her at all or her creepy husband either.”

“You’ll never live with them again – Mrs. Royalton and Judge Freddy will make sure of that. If I have anything to say about it, you’ll ever so much as have to see them again,” Athos promised. “Although I would rather enjoy meeting Mr. and Mrs. Duras; I have a thing or two to say to them.”

D’ar shivered at the tone of voice Athos used, but he wasn’t scared. Athos sounded so fierce, but D’ar had no doubt that the fierceness was directed at protecting D’ar and not at D’ar himself. It felt good to feel so safe. Almost, D’ar could feel sorry for Mrs. Duras should Athos get his chance at her. Almost. D’ar thought about how he’d felt when Mrs. Duras had said he was nasty for just being a boy and all of his sympathy dried up.

“I take it Father Frank was your priest when you lived in Lupiac?” Athos asked?

D’ar nodded. “Yeah, I liked him a lot. So did my dad.”

Athos nodded. “Would you have an interest attending church here if the priest was more like Father Frank rather than Mrs. Duras’ preacher?”

“Yeah, I think so,” D’ar answered. Church was never anything D’ar and his dad talked about much; they just went. “Do you go to church?”

If his brother had been a kid instead of a grown man, D’ar would have said that his question made Athos squirm.

“Not so much lately, but I’ve recently found reason to be thankful,” Athos told him. “In any case, I would be happy to take you. I have been to the church that Aramis attends and Father Ito sounds much like you describe your Father Frank. Would that be all right?”

“I hate to make you go just to take me,” D’ar admitted. Athos was already going to have to take him to school every day during the week.

“It will do my soul some good,” Athos assured him. On seeing the determined expression on D’ar’s face, he added, “and if I don’t feeling like going on a particular Sunday, Aramis has already said he’d be happy for you to accompany him. Like Mrs. Duras, he never misses.”

The comparison made D’ar giggle, as he suspected he was supposed to, given the wide smile Athos had on his face. D’ar could not imagine someone as unlike dour Mrs. Duras as the lively Aramis.

“Okay,” D’ar happily agreed ad then went back to his food.

Conversation was about lighter topics until after both brothers had eaten dessert. D’ar was glad that Athos had taken more than one dessert too; that way he didn’t feel like such a pig.

“I’ve heard it said that it’s not a good idea to go grocery shopping on an empty stomach.” Athos said as he leaned back from the table. “I don’t think we’ll have that problem.”

D’ar rubbed his belly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again.”

Athos snorted. “It wasn’t that long ago that I was your age, so I know that statement to be untrue.”

The two brothers shared a grin for a moment, but then Athos became serious.

“Getting out the door in the morning so that you’re at school on time will require teamwork,” Athos stated. “I’m afraid you’ll need to get up a lot earlier than you’re used to.”

D’ar sighed, regretting that third dessert. The talk of school started somersaults in his stomach.

“That’s okay,” D’ar stated as gamely as he could manage. “It’s only for a couple of months, right?”

“Right – that’s the spirit.” Athos flagged the waiter down and gave him his card. “I’m sure we can think of strategies to make it easier. Any suggestions?”

D’ar gave it serious thought, flattered that Athos asked for ideas just like D’ar was a grownup too. “Maybe take a shower the night before instead of in the morning?”  
“Excellent,” Athos praised him and D’ar flushed with pride.

By the time the waiter brought the bill for Athos to sign, they’d also decided that D’ar should organize his backpack the night before and lay his clothes out too. For his part, Athos was going to program his coffee machine so he’d at least be partially caffeinated when they hit the road. They hadn’t figured out how to handle breakfast, however, and downright disagreed about lunch.

“I don’t mind the school lunch,” D’ar tried to convince his brother. 

“What I smelled on Friday was not food,” Athos disagreed as they left the restaurant. “Not for human consumption, anyway.”

“It isn’t that bad,” D’ar tried to reassure him. Even with Athos liking peanut butter, D'ar was beginning to think that Athos was as much of a food snob as he’d said his mother was.

“Besides, we already bought you an insulated lunch bag,” Athos looked at D’ar slyly, as if he knew he was playing unfair. “It would be a waste of money not to use it.”  
“Fine.” D’ar gave in. He wasn’t sure why the idea of bringing his lunch was so unappealing except that he was used to needing to fill up on the school lunch when he lived at the Duras house. “Can I still buy lunch on pizza day?”

Athos looked like he was going to protest, but gave in. “All right, I’m sure they’re frozen pizzas anyway and have had some sort of quality check.”

When they got to the grocery store, the parking lot was pretty full, but was D’ar was still taken back by how busy the place was once they got inside. It wasn’t as noisy as the field house had been the day before, but was every bit as teeming with people.

“Dear Lord,” Athos muttered, clearly as unsettled by the crowd as D’ar had been. “Now I know why delivery services are so popular.”

“I can always buy lunch,” D’ar reminded him. “Then we wouldn’t need to get groceries today.”

Athos just shook his head. “Needs must. Do you have your phone with you?”

D’ar patted his pocket. “Yeah.”

“All right, if we get separated, text me,” Athos instructed. “Now, do you want to push the cart or handle the list?”

That was an easy decision to make. “Cart, please.”

Athos waited until D’ar grabbed a cart before pointing towards the right side of the store. “All right, little brother, we might as well begin here.”

Once they got started, it wasn’t so bad. Every time Athos seemed confused, a different nice lady would step close and offer advice. That seemed to make Athos nervous for some reason, although D’ar couldn’t figure out why.

“Aramis would have a field day here,” Athos muttered under his breath. “This place is a veritable meat market.”

“No, this is the produce department,” D’ar offered helpfully. “I think the meat department is over there.”

His comment made Athos chuckle and his brother even reached out and ruffled D’ar’s hair. D’ar didn’t mind. Getting his hair ruffled by Athos felt almost as good as when his dad had done it.

When they were in the dairy section, D’ar was relieved when Athos put two gallons of milk in the cart. He even let D’ar pick out some ice cream. The frozen food section was next and something caught D’ar’s eye.

“Hey, Athos, what about these?” D’ar pointed to a box of frozen breakfast sandwiches. “These look like they’d be quick.”

Athos opened the case and picked up a box, reading the print on it quickly. “This is perfect, D’ar, good catch.”

Several boxes went into their cart.

The next discussion point happened in the juice aisle and wasn’t as easily resolved. D’ar put his foot down about juice boxes.

“I’m not a baby,” D’ar claimed. He knew he’d be teased mercilessly if he took juice boxes in his lunch.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were,” Athos seemed surprised at D’ar’s vehemence. “I just thought the juice boxes would be a convenient way for you to take something to drink in your lunch.”

“How about some bottled water?” D’ar suggested, casting his eyes around for an alternative.

Athos looked doubtful. “Isn’t plain water rather bland?”

D’ar shrugged. “It’s a lot better than what comes out of the water fountain. Besides, one of my foster moms used to send bottles of water with lunch. She’d freeze them and they’d thaw by lunchtime and keep everything cold.”

“Water it is, then,” Athos looked impressed at the idea of the water serving a dual purpose. “Get a case of it.”

The rest of the shopping was easy enough and Athos let D’ar get a carton of soda, although he insisted that they get Sprite instead of Mountain Dew. By the time they headed to the check-out, the cart was so full that it was hard to push.

“I would appreciate it if you started bagging while I pay,” Athos instructed when it was their turn. “I’ll help as soon as I’m finished.”

D’ar enjoyed bagging groceries. He used to go with his dad and he’d also accompanied some of his fosters. His uncle, Jamie, had never done anything as normal as buy groceries. D’ar knew to bag all the cold things together and to be careful of fragile things like bread and eggs. He managed to keep up the pace and by the time the cashier had finished ringing and Athos had paid, D’ar was all but done.

“I’m impressed,” Athos said as he viewed D’ar’s work.

“Thanks,” D’ar blushed with pleasure.

Once they got back to the apartment, it took some time to haul all of their bags up to the second floor and then they had to put everything away. D’ar was itching to check out his room, but waited until he’d helped Athos. As soon as they were done, though, he hurried to his room and went in.

The paint smell was a lot fainter and, better yet, the blue was perfect.

“This turned out well,” Athos commented. He’d followed D’ar to his room. “Good choice on the paint color.”

“Do you think it’s dry?” D’ar asked, hopeful.

“It should be dry to the touch, but it will take a little time to cure,” Athos touched the wall and showed D’ar that his finger came away clean. He guessed what D’ar’s next question would be. “I think we need to wait until tomorrow to hang your sculpture.”

“Oh,” D’ar deflated a little. 

“It’ll give you something to look forward to after school,” Athos immediately tried to cheer D’ar up.

D’ar tried to act like it had worked. “Yeah.” He took a deep breath and tried to smile. “It’ll be nice to have something waiting for me.”

Athos put his hand on D’ar’s shoulder and gently guided him from the room. “Speaking of school, let’s see how much of your lunches we can prepare ahead of time. Given how I normally function early in the morning, you might end up with a bag of uncooked rice or the like otherwise.”

By the time they’d finished divvying up the food into smaller portions, D’ar had to admit that bringing his lunch was sounding a whole lot better. Athos said the bread would get soggy if they made the sandwiches too far ahead, so the lunchmeat was put into separate bags than the bread and put in the fridge. The carrots went into little bags too, but the chips came in small bags already. If the sandwich, chips and carrots weren’t enough, Athos had insisted on yogurt too. 

Neither brother was hungry by the time they were done, so Athos suggested that D’ar grab his laptop so they could print out his schoolwork downstairs. D’ar readily agreed. They retrieved the fans from D’ar’s room and put them back in the lower level before walking into the empty office.

D’ar booted his computer up and Athos helped him hook it up to the printer.

“I don’t know why, but I always find that I see mistakes better on a hard copy rather than the computer screen,” Athos advised him. “Feel free to print out your work before doing a proof read. Then, if you’ve found any mistakes, it will only take a minute correct them and reprint it.”

To his embarrassment, D’ar did find he’d made a couple of typos. Athos waved off his concern about wasting paper and just told him to take an empty desk to work at. D’ar headed to the one closest to the printer, but quickly diverted and went to the work space across from it.

“What’s wrong with the first desk?” Athos asked, lips twitching.

D’ar wrinkled his nose. “That’s Contance’s desk and I’m not sure she’d want me using it.”

“Constance might be a little bossy and far too fond of hugging,” Athos lips curved up in a smile. “But she is generous to a fault. She wouldn’t mind you sitting at her desk.” He tilted his head as he regarded his little brother. “How did you know it was hers?”

“That’s easy,” D’ar answered. “It’s got a sticky note dispenser that looks like a shoe and a pen with flowers on it. That’s too girly for you and Porthos and Aramis.”  
His answer clearly delighted his brother. “Good eye. Can you tell who the other desks belong to?”

D’ar looked at the desk he was sitting at. The cubicle it was in wasn’t nearly as neat as Constance’s, with a lot of hand-written notes and various papers scattered around. It also had a calendar, though, and the subject matter gave D’ar an important clue.

“This is where Aramis sits,” he stated, pointing at the calendar. “You said that Aramis really likes soccer.”

“Very good,” Athos complimented him. “As it happens, Porthos likes soccer too, but not nearly as much as Aramis.”

“That’s your spot,” D’ar pointed to another desk, where he could clearly see a frame and photo set just like the one he had in his room. “That one's easy.”

"I suppose it is," Athos' lips twitche.

“D’ar glanced over to the last cubicle, which must belong to Porthos. He did a double take and then took another look. “Why does Porthos have a calendar with kittens on it?”

Athos followed where D’ar was staring and chuckled. “Porthos has a soft spot for anything or anyone in need. I believe that is a calendar from a shelter of some sort that he donates to. There’s a different animal on it for each month, although I do think he prefers cats to dogs.”

“Oh,” D’ar had a hard time putting the idea of Porthos and a small, fluffy kitten together in his mind.

Athos sat at his own desk while D’ar made his corrections. It didn’t take long, either to fix his mistakes or to print out. In shorter time than he’d imagined, D’ar had hard copies of his assignments, making it the easiest non-math homework he’d ever had.

“Finished?”

D’ar turned at Athos’ voice. “Yeah and I turned the printer off too.”

“Excellent, let’s get back upstairs and think about supper.”

Despite having declared earlier in the day that he’d never eat again, D’ar’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food. “Okay.”

When they got back to the apartment, however, D’ar went directly to his room and got his new backpack out of the closet. He was very careful not to brush up against the walls, even though Athos had shown him they were dry. With a rare feeling of satisfaction, he stowed his homework carefully into the backpack and went back to join his brother.

Athos was standing in the middle of the kitchen when D’ar walked in, a rueful expression on his face. “This is going to sound obscene, given the amount of the day we devoted to getting groceries, but I have zero interest in cooking tonight.”

D’ar shrugged. “That’s okay, don’t we have leftovers?”

“Excellent suggestion,” Athos nodded. “And since we’re having a casual meal, let’s eat in the living room.”

It didn’t take long to heat up the stir fry from the night before and it was almost as good as the first time. Athos found a superhero movie playing on cable and the two brothers ate while they watched. D’ar managed to push back the dread of school for a while, at least while the movie played.

The rolling of the movie credits brought reality crashing down.

“I hate to say it, but tomorrow will start very early,” Athos said. “Why don’t you make sure you have everything you need for school put together?”

“All right,” D’ar did his best not to sigh, but Athos picked up on his dismay anyway.

“It won’t be so bad,” Athos assured him, putting a hand on D’ar’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. “At least you know everyone there.”

D’ar didn’t have the heart to tell his brother that knowing the other kids was a big part of his dislike of school. Still, he did his best to put a happier face on it.  
“And I won’t look like a foster kid anymore,” D’ar said.

Athos squeezed his shoulder. “Because you are not a foster kid anymore.”

His brother’s comment made D’ar feel a little better. School was going to suck, just like usual, but D’ar would have Athos, his friends, and a new home to come home to.

“Yeah,” D’ar agreed, smiling at his brother gratefully.

The slight optimistic feeling carried D’ar through his shower and putting out clothes for the next day. He finished putting the rest of his school stuff into his backpack, making sure he didn’t crumple his pristine homework. He took the backpack out to the kitchen. Athos was setting up his coffee pot and D’ar saw that Athos already had packed D’ar’s lunch bag with the things that didn’t need to be refrigerated. D’ar started feeling the dread again. Tomorrow – and school – was coming, whether he wanted it to or not.

“Ready?” Athos noticed him standing there.

“I think so,” D’ar put his backpack on the table next to his lunch bag.

“Have your alarm set?” Athos asked. He finished his task and gave his brother his full attention.

D’ar flushed. “No, I forgot.”

“No matter, you can set it before you go to bed,” Athos didn’t seem upset that D’ar had needed reminding. “I suggest you also set the alarm on your phone as a backup.”

“Okay,” D’ar agreed, didn’t make a move to go to his room. 

“I know it’s early, but the alarms that you’re about to set will go off earlier than you’re used to,” Athos said. “Bedtime is in order.”

D’ar sighed. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” Athos smiled at him. “And if you get wake up and don’t hear me up and about, feel free to pound on the door until I respond.”

“Okay,” D’ar wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that, but from what he’d seen already of Athos, he didn’t think it would be necessary either. “You do the same for me?”  
“Certainly,” Athos smiled at him. “Good night, D’ar.”

After returning the greeting, D’ar reluctantly took himself off to bed. Feeling anxious about school the next day, he didn’t hesitate to lock the door. He took a deep breath and realized that he could still smell the paint, but faintly.

D’ar crawled into bed and turned the light off. Athos was right, tomorrow would come soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the brothers are thoroughly introduced, the story is going to move a wee bit faster. Thank you for your patience!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the delay. . . I posted the last chapter of this story on September 9, 2016 and my father died about two weeks later on September 24. He was 85 and in the latter stages of dementia, so his passing wasn't entirely unexpected, but brutal to witness. I haven't felt much like writing lately, except for a couple of ficlets written as gifts. Those didn't have much resembling a plot, so I'm a little rusty. Thank you for your patience, both for waiting for the next chapter and for your understanding as I get back up to speed.

D’ar’s alarm went off right on time Monday morning, but it turned out not to be needed. D’ar hadn’t slept much the night before and was only dozing lightly. He was up and out of bed before the alarm had hardly sounded.

Once vertical, D’ar rubbed at his eyes. It was so early that it was still dark outside and he yawned mightily as he tidied up the covers. Dreading school or not, Athos would not need to drag D’ar out of bed. As he moved to get dressed, D’ar was glad that Athos had suggested he get the clothes out that he wanted to wear the night before; D’ar wasn’t sure he was awake enough to make any decisions. Even as sleepy as he was, however, D’ar noticed how much better the clothes fit than anything he’d had for years; Jack had done a good job.

Dressed, D’ar headed out of the bedroom, pleased that the paint smell was all but gone. He was relieved to see that Athos’ door was already open and his brother’s bed made. Even though Athos had told D’ar to bang on his door if he wasn’t up, D’ar wasn’t sure he would have been brave enough to actually do it. Another kid, yeah maybe, but not an adult.

When D’ar made it out to the kitchen, he found his brother not only awake and dressed, but he was already taking one of the breakfast sandwiches out of the microwave.

“Good morning,” Athos greeted him. He yawned, which in turn made D’ar yawn. Athos smiled sheepishly. “Or maybe I should just say ‘morning.’ I’m not sure there’s anything good about this time of day.”

“Sorry,” D’ar said as he slipped onto one of the breakfast bar benches. If it weren’t for D’ar, Athos wouldn’t have to get up so early.

“Nonsense, rising early is a virtue,” Athos reassured him, but then yawned again, which made him sigh. “Apparently I’m not feeling very virtuous this morning.”  
D’ar nodded. He wasn’t exactly sure what Athos meant, but D’ar wasn’t feeling much of anything except dread. “Me too.”

“Eat your breakfast,” Athos slid the breakfast sandwich towards D’ar. “We have time enough for that.”

He picked it up obediently, but D’ar wasn’t very hungry. Part of the problem, he was sure, was the early hour, but part of it was having to go back to school. He nibbled at the sandwich, not wanting to draw attention to himself.

Athos took another sandwich out of the microwave, but just looked at it for a couple of moments before sighing. “I suppose this will look more appealing a little later?”

“Maybe,” D’ar agreed, glad that he wasn’t the only one whose appetite was off.

“All right,” Athos nodded as though coming to a decision. “Gather up your things, we might as well get started.”

D’ar put his unwanted food down and double-checked his backpack. He’d loaded it the night before, but wanted to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. There was no worry, however, all of his books and folders were right where he left them. He brought it to the counter and Athos handed him his insulated lunch sack.

“I put in bread and meat for your sandwich, along with yogurt and a frozen bottle of water,” Athos listed off each item. “Chips and fruit were already inside. Did I forget anything?”

“No,” D’ar couldn’t think of anything that had been missed. “Thanks.”

Athos lips turned upwards just a bit. “You’re welcome. Now get your coat, it’s still a little chilly out this morning.”

D’ar did as his brother suggested. When he was done, he realized that Athos had wrapped each of their sandwiches in a paper towel. Apparently they were taking their breakfast with them.

“Are you all set?” Athos asked.

There was nothing for it, so D’ar nodded. “I guess so.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Athos told him as they walked out the door. “At least the routine at school will be familiar, I’m sure that will be welcome after the last week.”

D’ar was pretty sure that the opposite was true, but held his comment back. Instead, he trudged to the SUV behind Athos, yawning hugely as he climbed in. To his relief, Athos didn’t try to carry on a conversation. Instead, his brother turned on the radio. The station was playing news and traffic rather than music, but that was at least better than the religious station that Mrs. Duras had listened to. Still, before long D’ar’s head started nodding as he struggled to stay awake.

“It’s okay to get a little more sleep if you can,” Athos had noticed D’ar’s difficulty. “One of the habits I learned in the military is to never pass up an opportunity for more sleep.”

“Thanks, but I’m okay,” D’ar straightened in his seat. If Athos had to be up at this hour to drive him to school, the least D’ar could do was stay awake and keep him company. “What will you be doing today?”

Athos grimaced. “Nothing terribly interesting. In addition to our restaurant customer, we also have a female client who wants us to keep an eye on her husband.”  
D’ar perked up. “A stake-out? That would be cool.”'

His enthusiasm caused his brother’s expression to lighten up. “It will involve sitting in a car most of the day, with a camera at ready, but the end result will either be catching the client’s husband doing something wrong or proving his innocence. Either way, our work will be clarifying the lady’s marital situation for her.”

“Do stake-outs ever get more interesting?” D’ar asked.

“Rarely, but it does happen,” Athos admitted. “Unfortunately, however, when a stake-out becomes interesting, it almost always becomes far too interesting.”

D’ar managed to forget most of his anxiety while he listened to Athos’ stories and he was even able to finish his breakfast. As Athos talked, D’ar began to understand why his brother was so close with his friends; they’d gotten each other in and out of a lot of trouble. The realization that he didn’t have friends like that made D’ar sad and, as they got close to the school, his dread returned.

It was a good thing they’d left early because they got there about the normal time that the bus would have arrived from the Duras house. Instead of using the drop-off area, though, Athos parked the SUV about a half block away. For a moment, D’ar was worried that his brother was going to escort him inside; D’ar did not want his brother to see how the other students treated him. So far, Athos didn’t seem to think that D’ar was a loser and D’ar wanted to keep it that way.

Athos turned the SUV off and sat for a moment, staring off to the distance. When he finally looked at D’ar, his expression was serious.

“I know it’s hard, but I want you to remember something,” Athos stated quietly. “You’re no longer Charles Castelmore, foster child. You’re d’Artagnan Castelmore; brother of Olivier Athos; honorary brother of Aramis, Porthos and Constance; friend of Jack and Paulie; and special ward of Mrs. Royalton and Judge Freddy. I’m sorry that we can’t walk the halls of this school with you, but you are not alone. Not anymore. All right?”

D’ar took a deep breath and nodded. “All right.”

“All right,” Athos repeated. “Now, I have the time your school lets out and I will be here, as close to this spot as I can manage. I suggest you not check your phone too often during the school day, but if you don’t see me here when classes get out, be sure to check your messages. I’ll let you know if it’s one of the others picking you up. The vast majority of the time, however, it will be me.”

“Okay,” D’ar said as gathered his things and got out of the SUV. “I’ll see you later.”

Athos nodded solemnly. “You can count on that.”

D’ar managed a small smile as he shut the door and then resolutely turned towards the school. He made himself not look back as he walked towards the entrance, although he wanted very badly to do exactly that. He didn’t because he didn’t want Athos to think he was a baby and, besides, he wasn’t 100% certain that he wouldn’t just run right back to the SUV and beg to be taken back to the apartment.

As he followed the horde of other kids heading inside, D’ar kept his head up, just in case Athos was watching him. Only as he entered the building did he turn around and swallowed a lump in his throat as, through the window, he watched his brother pull away in the SUV. Athos had made sure that D’ar was safely inside before he’d driven off, which made D’ar feel marginally better. That was a good thing, because he soon needed all the grit he could muster. “Safe” and “inside” weren’t exactly related concepts, not when it came to being a foster kid at D’ar’s current school.

“Heard you got your foster mom arrested.”

D’ar stumbled as someone pushed him from behind, but steadied himself against the window before turning around. Sure enough, there was a pair of other kids smirking at him. D’ar knew them all too well, having been their target many times in the four months he’d been at the school.

Knowing that answering would just encourage the two, D’ar simply put his head down and shoved his way through them.

“Loser!”

“I’m not a loser,” D’ar whispered to himself as he walked quickly to his locker. “I’m Athos’ brother.”

D’ar wrapped the knowledge of his new-found family around him like a protective cloak and it was a good thing he had it, because the two boys might have been the first to give him trouble, but they were far from the only ones.

It started with the feeling of a lot of eyes on him. D’ar was used to being invisible, except when the mean kids wanted a target. When it felt like he was being watched, he’d turn his head, only to see other kids quickly looking away as if they didn’t want to get caught. It didn’t stop with just looks, either. Whispers soon seemed to follow D’ar wherever he went.

His second class of the day was English and he’d actually looked forward to turning in his book report. He should have known better.

“This looks different than your other homework attempts,” Ms. Jameson said when D’ar handed her his paper.

“Yes, ma’am, I have a laptop now,” D’ar answered, shy but proud at the same time.

“Well, a computer is a step up from your handwriting,” she grudgingly allowed. “But it also makes it easier to plagiarize answers from the internet. I assure you, I’ve become very skilled at spotting those.”

“Yes, ma’am,” D’ar stammered. “I mean, no ma’am. I didn’t copy any answers off the internet.”

His teacher sniffed at him. “I’ll be the judge about that. Take your seat.”

D’ar did as he was told and slunk down in his chair so as to attract less attention. He heard a few snickers at his expense anyway, although a student or two gave him a sympathetic look instead. Ms. Jameson was not well liked.

By the time lunch rolled around, D’ar felt downright twitchy from all the staring he was getting. He wasn’t hungry, but had learned the hard way not to let food go to waste. He stopped by his locker and retrieved his lunch bag and a notebook before heading to the cafeteria. There, he got lucky. Not standing in line for lunch meant that he was able to start eating before any of his tormentors had their meals. D’ar quickly took a seat at the table he usually used, the one back by the garbage that was avoided by everyone but the most unpopular kids.

There was one other boy sitting at the table, Eric H’ng. They weren’t exactly friends, but Eric was also a frequent target of the mean kids and they often sat together with the idea that there was safety in numbers. As D’ar approached, however, Eric looked up at him in near-panic. By that, D’ar understood that whatever was going around the school about him was particularly bad. Not wanting to drag the other boy into it, D’ar sat at the other end of the table and tried not to notice when Eric sighed in relief.

Working quickly, D’ar unpacked his insulated bag and made short work of bolting down the carefully picked lunch items. By the time most of the other students were coming out of the line to buy hot lunch, D’ar was finishing up. He didn’t dawdle, instead getting up quickly, dumping his trash and leaving Eric alone at the table. A couple of students tried to trip him as he left the sea of lunch tables, but D’ar was used to that and was able to avoid the attempts. He could have sworn he heard whispers about drugs as he left the area, but it was hard to tell over the noise of all the students in the room.

The cafeteria was located in the far north part of the school. The students were restricted to the immediate area, something that was enforced by a hall monitor on the one corridor that connected the wing to the rest of the school. In addition to the cafeteria, the north wing also housed the gyms and a few classrooms for subjects like health. Most rooms other than the cafeteria were locked during lunch hours, but D’ar had found a hidden corner shortly after he’d transferred to the school. He didn’t visit it every lunch hour, too worried about his safe place being discovered, but he used it on bad days.

D’ar wandered the small set of hallways, hoping that it looked like he didn’t have a particular destination in mind. No one followed him and when he got to the correct back corridor, he was able to duck around a corner with confidence that he hadn’t been seen. His nook was underneath a back stairway and behind some covered equipment. It was dark and dusty, but quiet and, most importantly, all D’ar’s. For what felt like the first time since he’d exited Athos’ SUV, D’ar felt like he could take a deep breath.

For a few minutes, all D’ar did was just that. Sitting on the floor, he leaned his head back against the wall and just sat there, relishing the lack of eyes on him. The worst part wasn’t the whispers that seemed to be following him everywhere, but the certainty that soon there would be more than whispers. D’ar wasn’t sure what the other kids would do when they got tired of talking about him, but he was sure that it wouldn’t be pleasant.

That morning, Athos had reminded D’ar that he wasn’t alone, that he had family again and friends. Despite what his brother said, though, at school, Athos and the others all felt very far away. Another thing Athos had mentioned a couple of times was that the school year wouldn’t last much longer. With that in mind, D’ar put the notebook in his lap and pulled a pen out of his back pocket. He paged through to the back of the notebook and drew a grid pattern. He made a makeshift calendar showing the rest of the school year and when he was done, he looked at it in dismay.

Saying that the school year only had a couple of months left made the time sound so short, but it was actually closer to three months and with the days laid out in front of him, it was a distressing amount of time. D’ar was still looking at the makeshift calendar when the first warning bell sounded. He sighed and closed the book.  
D’ar thought of his brother again as he prepared to step out into the hallway. Athos wasn’t really with him, but D’ar could act like he was. Or, better yet, D’ar could act like Athos. He was certain that none of the mean kids would dare mess with someone as confident as Athos. His brother had been a solder after all; a group of middle school bullies wouldn’t scare him one bit.

With that in mind, D’ar squared his shoulders and lifted his head. He took a deep breath and then stepped out into the corridor. No one pounced on him and, with a sense of relief, D’ar headed to his locker. The whole time he was switching out his lunch bag for the materials he’d need for the afternoon, D’ar kept an eye out for trouble, but also tried to keep up his Athos-attitude. Whether it was because his new strategy was working or the mean kids were just busy trying to get to class too, he didn’t have any trouble.

The first class after lunch was D’ar’s favorite, math. As he made his way there, the hallways got busier and busier as the second bell loomed. D’ar still received some stares, but instead of ducking down and averting his gaze, he instead met each look squarely. To his amazement, it was always the other student who looked away. Not only that, but no one tripped him or tried to shove him into the lockers.

By the time he got to the room his math class was in, D’ar was feeling much better about things. Unfortunately, that good feeling pretty much evaporated when he saw who was waiting for him inside.

“Charles,” Jenny smiled at him brightly. “I heard there were all sorts of cops at your place and then you disappeared. Are you okay?”

D’ar could only stand and look at her. This was the same girl that had pretended to want to talk about homework with him and then did her best to humiliate him. Did she really expect him to believe her now when she said she cared?'

Apparently she did.

“I was so worried about you,” Jenny took a step closer. “What happened?”

That was the heart of it, no doubt she wanted status points for providing information to the other kids. D’ar just kept staring at her, no longer in disbelief, but dislike.  
“Why would I tell you?” He asked bluntly.

His calm retort took the girl by surprise. “Well, because we’re friends, right?”

“Wrong,” D’ar moved passed her. “Just last week you called me a loser.”

D’ar heard Jenny say something, but he wasn’t paying attention. Instead, he approached the teacher’s desk and handed in his assignment.

“Thank you, Charles,” Mrs. Kennemen smiled at him. “I know I can always count on you. We’re glad to have you back.”

“Thanks,” D’ar gave her a small smile, figuring she was one of the few people in the school who really meant it.

He took his assigned desk, but instead of keeping his head down, he looked around. A couple of kids who’d ignored him before were looking at him speculatively, but several others seemed hostile. Jenny Davis was the school’s queen bee and dissing her was not a popular choice, not with the other mean kids.

D’ar made himself concentrate on the lesson and not any possible retribution for his new attitude. It wasn’t hard to do, as Mrs. Kennemen had started a new section of their textbook and D’ar found it fascinating. The class ended all too quickly and D’ar headed back out into the teeming hallways.

The whole day, D’ar had been waiting for the other shoe to drop and it finally happened on his way to social studies. D’ar continued to keep his head up and remained alert, but he didn’t have eyes in the back of his head. A shoulder of someone a lot bigger than D’ar bumped into him from behind. The unexpected shove propelled D’ar forward and he hit the wall of lockers with a bang.

“I heard that you’re such a big loser that even the jail refused to take you,” a boy named Patrick sneered at him as D’ar slowly righted himself.

“Yeah,” Lance’s friend, Billy, chimed in. “They frisked you and everything – bet you enjoyed that.”

There were titters from all around D’ar. He didn’t bother to look for support from the other students, knowing there wouldn’t be any. He also didn’t try to explain that it had been his foster family that had been in trouble with the police and not him. He knew from experience that whatever he said would be twisted and used against him. Instead he kept his head up and resumed moving towards class as though nothing had happened. He heard whispers behind him, mostly too indistinct to know what was being said, but sometimes words like ‘jail’ and ‘loser’ were crystal clear.

By the time he reached his social studies classroom, it was harder to keep his Athos face on. Mrs. Dalton, though, was strict and so the whispers didn’t follow D’ar into her room. D’ar handed in his homework. Mrs. Dalton wasn’t as friendly as Mrs. Kennemen, but she wasn’t as mean as Mrs..Jameson either. D’ar counted that as a win and gratefully took his seat.

Normally, D’ar didn’t find social studies all that interesting, but after his conversation with Athos, he found he could follow the mythology lesson a lot easier than he had before. That left a warm feeling in his belly. Unfortunately the class would be moving on to Chinese mythology by the end of the week and D’ar made a mental note to ask his brother if he knew anything about that subject.

On the way to his next class, there were more whispers and a couple of attempts to trip him. The latter reminded D’ar of why he’d gotten into the habit of looking down in the first place. He stumbled once, but managed to stay upright. After that, D’ar glanced down occasionally.

The last class on D’ar’s schedule was Spanish, which was on D’ar’s list of least favorite classes. It was hard enough to remember all the rules and grammar in English, let alone a whole new language. It didn’t help that the other kids had started at the beginning of the school year and, having transferred well into the year, D’ar had started behind the others.

Fortunately, the only thing D’ar had missed while he was gone was a movie that Mr. Salazar had shown. It was in English, but the teacher said that understanding a culture was as important as knowing its language. The other kids were complaining that an animated movie like The Book of Life was for little kids, but D’ar was bummed that he’d missed it. Seeing a movie in class sounded a whole lot better to him that the usual lesson. Mr. Salazar told D’ar that he should see the movie on his own before the midterm test, as there would be some questions about it. For once, D’ar had a Spanish assignment that he actually didn’t mind. 

By the time class was over, however, D’ar had another assignment and that was a list of 25 vocabulary words that they would be quizzed on Friday. D’ar wasn’t the only one in the class that groaned; a hatred of quizzes was something that all students had in common.

When the final bell rang, D’ar gathered up his materials and joined the other students in the general rush to their lockers and then the exit. When D’ar got to his locker, he quickly loaded his backpack up with what he’d need for homework. After surreptitiously checking to make sure no one was watching, he took his phone out of the bag and quickly looked at it. There were no messages and D’ar breathed a sigh of relief; that meant that Athos would be the one picking him up from school.  
Hurrying, but trying not to look like he was hurrying, D’ar headed outside, managing to avoid one last effort to trip him. He was so relieved that school was over for the day that he didn’t even bother to note who’d done it. Instead, he was fixated on finding his brother’s SUV.

Athos, thankfully, was right where he’d told D’ar he’d be. He was standing outside of the SUV rather than sitting in it, carelessly leaning against the large vehicle. Athos must have been looking for him, though, because his posture stiffened as he spotted his little brother and he gave a short wave.

D’ar grinned for the first time in what felt like forever. He waved back and jogged over to the SUV, all concern about being seen to hurry forgotten. As he got closer to the SUV, D’ar was glad to see that Athos was smiling at him. Shock of shocks, his brother actually looked happy to see him. After the day he’d had, that simple fact made D’ar feel a lot better.

“How was your day?” Athos asked when D’ar was within easy speaking range. “Were your friends happy to see you back?”

Just like that, D’ar’s happy mood was gone. Unlike his brother, he didn’t have friends. Athos seemed to have a hard time believing that and D’ar didn’t really want to tell him otherwise.

“It was okay,” D’ar answered the first half of Athos’ questions and hoped his brother wouldn’t press him on the friend issue. “Mrs.Jameson was happy that she could read my homework for once.”

D’ar told himself that he wasn’t lying to Athos; Mrs. Jameson had said something about being able to read his book report. If she wasn’t exactly ‘happy’ about it, that was a small detail. The implication that D’ar cheated on his home work was a bigger deal, but D’ar didn’t want to bother Athos with it. D’ar had legitimately done the work and even grumpy Mrs. Jameson should be able to figure that out.

An uncomfortable silence stretched out between the two. D’ar could tell that his brother wanted to hear more about his day at school, but the best D’ar could offer him on the subject was silence. Athos couldn’t do anything about school, not without a lot more trouble than D’ar already was. The year ended in a couple of months anyway; D’ar could tough it out.

“Well, I suppose we better get home,” Athos said, motioning towards the vehicle. “I imagine you’re hungry.”

He wasn’t far enough away from the school to have an appetite back yet, but the mention of food reminded D’ar of something.

“The lunch bag worked out really good,” he told Athos as they each climbed into the SUV. “I was done eating way ahead of everybody else.”

D’ar left out why eating fast was such an excellent thing. Somehow he didn’t think Athos would approve of his little brother finding such an out of the way place to hide.

“Did you have enough to eat?” Athos asked, his forehead creased with a worry line. “We can always stop along the way home and get you something if you’re hungry.”

“No, I’m good.”'

There was a few moments of silence, and then Athos asked, “Do you have a lot of homework?”

“Some,” D’ar admitted. “I have a Spanish quiz on Friday.”

Athos glanced away from the road long enough to look at D’ar in concern. “Are you worried about it?”

“Yeah, Spanish isn’t my favorite,” D’ar told him, but then went on to explain why. He didn’t want Athos to think he was stupid. “Everybody else started at the beginning of the year, so I’m way behind.”

“Ah,” Athos commented. To D’ar’s relief, he didn’t seem disappointed. “Perhaps you can ask Aramis for help; he speaks Spanish.”

“He does?” D’ar was surprised.

“We all do, actually,” Athos explained. “But Aramis’ mother was from Spain, so he’s known it since he was a baby. The rest of us can get by, but aren’t fluent.”

That was a relief, that they all weren’t perfect. D’ar was beginning to think there was nothing that his brother and his friends couldn’t do. It was reassuring and a little daunting.

“I’m sure Aramis would be willing to help you, if you need.” Athos finished.

“The quiz is on Friday, will I even see him before then?” D’ar pointed out.

“Well, about that,” Athos rubbed at his beard and D’ar thought he looked a little nervous. “You’ll be seeing him tonight.”

“Tonight?” D’ar was sure his voice squeaked.

“Only Porthos really got to interact with you this weekend and Constance, as well as Aramis, are anxious to see how you’re doing. We’re having dinner together tonight.” Athos explained. He glanced at D’ar again. “But if it’s not a good time, say the word and it’s canceled.”

D’ar longed to say the word, but he knew he couldn’t take all of Athos’ time. Aramis, Porthos and Constance were very important to his brother and he didn’t want Athos resenting him if he thought D’ar was intruding too much.

“No, it’s fine,” D’ar wondered who he was trying to convince. “I was just surprised.”

“Good,” Athos seemed relieved, so D’ar must have succeeded, at least with his brother. “I hope you like chili.”

“I love chili,” D’ar answered, cheering up.

“Excellent,” Athos commented. “We have a whole chili toppings bar set up.”

D’ar’s stomach rumbled at the thought. It was loud of enough that Athos heard, but rather than laughing, Athos looked concerned.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” 

Embarrassed, D’ar ducked his head. “No, I’m fine.”

An awkward silence fell over the brothers. D’ar hated how that felt, but didn’t want to talk about school. It was a relief when Athos turned the radio on; at least music gave them something they could talk about. 

“Are you prone to motion sickness?” Athos asked when they were close enough to the apartment that D’ar started recognizing where he was.'

“Huh?” He had no idea what his brother was asking.

“Does reading while riding in the car make you queasy?” Athos explained. “If not, I could bring your laptop with me when I come to pick you up and you could get a start on your homework on the ride home.”

D’ar remembered reading comic books in the car while riding with his dad to horse show. It hadn’t seemed to bother him. “That sounds like a good idea, if it’s not any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” Athos assured him. By this time, he was pulling the SUV into the parking lot. “We can try tomorrow.”

D’ar got out and followed is brother to the apartment building. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped and he looked up, a little daunted about spending the evening with his brother’s friends.

He was bolstered by the weight and warmth of Athos’ hand on his shoulder. “Don’t forget, we can hang your horse sculpture tonight.”

As a matter of fact, D’ar had forgotten and his whole face lit up at the thought. “Can we do that before we eat?”

“I don’t see why not,” Athos replied, smiling slightly. “Chili holds well.”

With the thought of the sculpture to motivate him, D’ar followed his brother up the stairs with more enthusiasm than he’d had when he’d exited the SUV. There was no need to enter the lock code, the door opened without it and, sure enough, all three of Athos’ friends turned to greet them. Even more welcome, though, was the glorious scent of chili. For the first time all day, D’ar actually felt hungry.

“Well, there’s the star of the hour,” Porthos called out when he saw them. “We can finally eat.”

“Hush, you,” Constance chided him and D’ar ducked his head so that the others wouldn’t see him smile. It still seemed odd for such a small woman to be ordering around a big guy like Porthos.

“Do let the boy get a foot or two inside before you plop him down at the dinner table,” Aramis’ eyes twinkled merrily at D’ar. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks,” D’ar blushed at all of the attention.

“Tell your belly to wait a few minutes more, Porthos,” Athos instructed. “We have a sculpture to hang before we eat.”

“That’s worth puttin’ off grub for,” Porthos agreed.

“Yes, your brother issued dire threats if we dared step foot into your room to check on the paint job,” Aramis informed D’ar.

D’ar looked over to Athos, who simply shrugged.

“It’s your room, D’ar, you decide who gets to enter,” Athos explained firmly.

Feeling extremely self-conscious, D’ar led the way towards his bedroom. He turned the light on and stepped in. The paint was even fainter than it had been that morning - the paint had dried completely. D’ar turned slowly as he studied the walls. It looked pretty good, if he did say so himself.

“Good job, little brother,” Aramis complimented him.

“I already knew he’d nailed it,” Porthos winked at D’ar. “There weren’t no paint in Athos’ beard this morning.

“One time,” Athos muttered under his breath. “It happened the one time.”

“It looks much better than that stark white you had,” Constance added. “The color of blue is just right.”

Athos alone hadn’t been focused on the room. Instead, he’d been looking at his brother. “Have you decided where you want to hang it?”

D’ar nodded his head and pointed ot the chosen wall. It was perfect because he could admire the sculpture either from the bed or from his desk.  
“Good choice,” Athos complimented him. “Shall we make it so?”

It had felt like years instead of days that D’ar had been waiting to hang the sculpture. Thankfully Athos and his friends seemed to sense that. In short order, a stud in the wall had been found, a hole drilled and the sculpture mounted. He hadn’t thought it possible, but it looked even better than D’ar had imagined. He approached the wall and stroked the metal almost reverently. He still couldn’t believe that his brother had bought it for him.

The moment was broken by the loud sound of someone’s stomach rumbling. As one, everyone turned to stare at Porthos, who just shrugged. D’ar admired the big man’s lack of embarrassment.

“What can I say,” Porthos grinned. “I’m a growing boy.”

D’ar lagged behind a little as the others trouped out of the bedroom and headed towards the kitchen. He looked at the sculpture one last time, reminding himself that he could admire it again before he went to bed. Finally he turned the light off and followed his nose to the smell of chili. 

The biggest pot that D’ar had ever seen was on the stove-top and that’s where the good smells were coming from. The breakfast bar had been set up as a buffet of toppings and D’ar gawked when he saw the variety. There was shredded cheese and diced onions, but also strips of green pepper, olives, tortilla chips, corn chips, jalapenos, bacon, avacado and sour cream. A pan of freshly baked cornbread rounded out the offerings.

Based on the way they’d acted around D’ar before, he’d half expected the adults to be waiting for him to go first, but to his relief, Contance and Porthos had already fixed their bowls and were at the table. Aramis was in the process of dishing up his own chili and Athos was distributing drinks. It took a while for D’ar to decide what he wanted, but he eventually made his choices and found his own spot at the table.

“Here, can’t have chili without cornbread,” Porthos passed him a piece.

D’ar happily bit in. “Mmm,” was all he could say in reaction, since he was still chewing.

“We take our chili and its accouterments very seriously around here,” Aramis stated, a solemn look on his face, but D’ar could see the smile in his eyes.

“That’s because you’re just overgrown boys who like the excuse to pass gas that the beans give you,” Constance scoffed. She turned to D’ar. “That’s why we only have it at supper, that way I can escape before the beans kick in.”

“So says the woman who loaded her bowl up with jalapenos and onions,” Aramis pointed out. “The same woman who made sure she was first in line.”

“The more it burns on the way in,” Porthos stated with a grin, “the more it burns on the way out.”

D’ar giggled, not quite believing that he was at a table full of adults that were talking about farting. School seemed very far away.

“Lady, gentlemen, please,” Athos waded in to the discussion. “It’s a sad state of affairs when the 12 year-old is the most couth amongst us.”

The other adults didn’t seem embarrassed by Athos’ statement, but they changed the topic of conversation anyway. D’ar was glad that they were talking about funny clients they’d had before and didn’t press him about school. With that unpleasant topic being avoided, D’ar could eat his dinner without anything robbing him of his appetite. That was, until dinner was over.

“Aramis, D’ar’s taking introductory Spanish classes,” Athos mentioned as he started bagging up the left over toppings. “D’ar, didn’t you say you have a quiz later this week?”

“Spanish, my favorite of the romantic languages,” Aramis grinned. “So much better for wooing a mujer hermosa.”

“Woo a what?” D’ar asked. He wasn’t sure what Aramis had actually said, but from the look on the man’s face, was pretty sure he wanted no part of it.

“Don’t scare the boy, Aramis,” Athos waggled a finger at his friend and then turned his attention on D’ar. “A ‘romantic language’ simply means that it is a modern language developed from a language originally spoken by the Romans. It has nothing to do with romance.” He looked sternly at Aramis. “As Aramis well knows.”

“Speak for yourself, my friend,” Aramis didn’t seem at all intimidated by Athos, but D’ar was relieved when he dropped the teasing. “My mother was from Spain, so I’ve spoken the language my entire life. I’d be happy to help you prepare for your quiz if you like.”

Athos excused D’ar from the chore of helping clean up, so he and Aramis sat at the table while the others moved around them, cleaning up from dinner. Aramis not only installed an app on D’ar’s phone so that he could record the correct pronunciations of the words, but also guided D’ar in making flash cards.

“There, that ought to help,” Aramis leaned back in satisfaction when the cards were done. “Now you can practice any time you have a free moment.”

“Thanks,” D’ar decided that Aramis was really nice, even if he liked to tease.

“Well, I heard Porthos’ stomach rumbling and that’s my cue to go,” Constance said. D’ar looked up from his homework and was surprised to see that the other three had cleaned the kitchen until it sparkled.

Porthos patted his belly and grinned. “All fueled up.”

Aramis immediately rose from the table. “That reminds me, I have an errand I need to run.”

“What’s that?” Porthos asked. “Maybe I’ll come with you.”

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Aramis was quick to assure him, waving his friend off with a hand gesture. “No heavy lifting is involved, so I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Oy, you only want me around when you need my muscles?” Porthos protested, turning so he could wink at D’ar without Aramis seeing.

D’ar stifled a giggle.

“As scintillating as this conversation is,” Athos began.

“Don’t you mean scent-illating?” Aramis murmured, but not quietly enough. Athos glared him.

Go, all of you,” Athos pointed at the door. “It is a school night. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Night, little brother,” Porthos didn’t seem at all upset at being kicked out. “Good work on keeping your brother’s beard clean.”

“Your room really does look lovely,” Constance smiled at D’ar as she put an arm around Porthos and Aramis and herded them towards the door.

Aramis turned to speak over his shoulder before she’d ushered him out. “And you’re going to do well on the quiz, I can tell.”

“Thanks,” D’ar called out as they left.

Just before the door closed, D’ar heard Constance’s voice one last time. “Ew, Porthos!” 

“I apologize for my friends.”Athos shook his head. “They’re not usually this. . . . goofy. Once they stop feeling like they need to impress you, I imagine they’ll start acting like adults again.” He thought for a moment. “Well, mostly like adults.”

D’ar ignored the last part of what his brother said, surprised by an earlier statement. “Impress? Me?”

“Yes, they’re trying to impress you.” Athos repeated, with a small smile. “I keep telling you that you’re a very special young man. They know it too and it’s important to them that you like them.”

“Because I’m your brother,” D’ar pointed out.

“That too,” Athos agreed. “But because that makes you family and none of us have a lot of that.”

D’ar frowned. He knew about Athos and Porthos, but had assumed that Aramis and Constance had more family than the rest of them.

Athos saw his confusion and explained before D’ar had a chance to ask. “Constance is close to her family, but her father and one of her brothers live in Chicago and her other two brothers are deployed overseas. She doesn’t get to see them much. As for Aramis,” Athos sighed. “He is apparently estranged from his family. Even after all the years I’ve known him, I don’t know why.”

“That’s too bad,” D’ar couldn’t imagine his parents being alive and not wanting to be close to them.

“Yes, it is.” Athos changed the subject. “Now, do you have some additional homework to do?”

“Yeah,” D’ar reluctantly admitted. “I’ve got some reading.”

“All right, do you want to do it out here or in your room?” Athos asked. He was already getting his own laptop out and positioning it on the kitchen table.   
As much as D’ar had enjoyed working at the table with his brother before, what he really wanted to do was go to his room and admire the horse sculpture again.

“My room, I think,” D’ar answered.

To his relief, Athos didn’t seem disappointed at his choice. “Just remember, no internet unless you’re where I can monitor you.”

“Okay,” D’ar agreed and headed towards his room, stopped long enough to grab his backpack from where he’d left it by the door.

When he got to his room, the first thing that D’ar did was stretch out on his bed and stare at the wall. The horse looked like it could run right off of it and come alive in his bedroom.

“I wish,” D’ar muttered softly.

With a sigh, D’ar got up and took his backpack to his desk so that he could dig out his social studies book. He had a final chapter to read on the Greek gods before they left the subject behind. It was hard going, not just because of his usual struggle to read, but also because he kept being distracted by looking at the sculpture. He could easily imagine wings on the metal horse, just like Pegasus. D’ar’s fingers twitched with the effort not to sketch in the margins of his book.

With starts and stops, accompanied by a lot of sighs and glances at the wall, D’ar finally finished the assigned chapter. He yawned as he closed the book, surprised at how sleepy he suddenly felt. It was still pretty early, but D’ar yawned again. 

A soft knock on his doorframe caught D’ar halfway through a third yawn.

“I guess that answers that question,” Athos said. “It’s early yet, but you had an early start this morning, with another early wake-up tomorrow. If you have a good stopping spot, I suggest getting ready for bed.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” D’ar admitted sheepishly. He packed his book away in his backpack and followed Athos out to the kitchen. Together, the two brothers readied D’ar’s lunch bag for the next day and then Athos was wishing D’ar a good night.

As D’ar headed back to his bedroom, he stopped and turned. Athos was re-seating himself at the kitchen table and his laptop.

“Athos?”

His brother looked up from his work. “Yes?”

“Don’t forget,” D’ar reminded him. “You have an early day tomorrow too.”

To his relief, Athos wasn’t offended. In fact, he smiled. “Yes, sir.”

D’ar smiled back before going to his room. The good feeling lasted until he started getting clothes out for the next day. 

The next school day.

All told, the first day back hadn’t been too bad. D’ar desperately hoped that his luck held, but he’d learned long ago not to count on that. Remembering Athos sitting in the kitchen, an unexpected brother who seemed to believe in him, D'ar felt his back straighten. When he got dressed in the morning, he'd put on his Athos attitude too.

He only hoped it would be enough.


End file.
